2859
by Halfrobotchicken
Summary: Santana Lopez is a publicist in New York trying to rein in the biggest ego the city's ever seen. Brittany Pierce is attempting to create the next big thing in Seattle. They're 2859 miles apart, but one wrong number just might change everything.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The sudden loud blaring of Lady Gaga's Paparazzi coming from her nightstand made Santana shoot up in bed. She tried to shake the sleep out of her brain before opening her eyes to glance at the clock. 1:57 stood out in bold red against the darkness. If she just let it ring, he would probably give up. It can wait. She wiggled herself back into the mattress. Gaga quieted and she shut her eyes again. Right before she drifted off, the Lady struck again. _I'll follow you until you love me. Papa-paparazzi._ This could only mean one thing and it wasn't good. She hefted herself up and swept the dark hair out of her face. With a quick check, her suspicions were confirmed. She answered her phone with a quick slide of her thumb. "What the fuck do you want, Puckerman?"

"Hey there, Lopez," came the tell tale sing song of the biggest thorn in her side since Charlie Thompson stole her first girlfriend in third grade. This was the bigger, swarmier version of that asshole. "I got the goods on your gold star girl."

Santana set her jaw and tried to block out the sirens echoing off the buildings right outside the window. "Why can't you just be a normal scumbag and call me in the morning?"

"You know I treat you right," the man retorted. "We have history, so I feel obligated to give you the heads up."

"Yeah, yeah," Santana rolled her eyes before realizing he couldn't see her. "We have history, Noah. That's the only reason I don't send my goons to mangle you."

"Rachel Berry doesn't have any goons."

"I never said they were Rachel's goons, I said they were my goons."

"I'm calling bullshit on your bullshit."

"Puckerman, just tell me what you have. I was asleep and you're pissing me off," Santana grabbed her laptop from the other side of her bed, popped it open, and refreshed the tab already displaying the TMZ webpage. Nothing there. She did a quick check of the rest of the gossip sites...not a thing. Yet. "I don't see anything. This better not be like the time you snapped her on toilet, you sicko."

"It's an exclusive," Puck informed her. "Rachel Berry flipping her shit on some chick at that new club on 92nd. I have her. I have Finny boy. I have the girl screaming 'psycho' at Berry while she threatens her with a shoe. I have the Golden Ticket crying on the street. And I have video of all of it."

"Oh please, Puckerman. She has a breakdown over that good for nothing douchebag husband of hers at least once a month. And she always flips her shit in public. Everybody and their mom has a shaky cell phone video of her ugly crying, singing the Cell Block Tango accapella, and wielding a spiked stiletto . If I went around paying off everybody, I'd be in national debt territory. Call me when you have something better. Or, you know, get a job that doesn't require being nastier than scabies."

"I'm sending it to Sylvester then."

"Good, she needs the business," Santana closed her laptop, shoved it under her pillow, and settled back under her sheets. "Let Sue know we don't give a shit and she can run that crap all day. I'll even write up a little press release to go along with the photos. It'll make her job a hell of a lot easier."

"I'm not kidding around, Lopez. Sue's offering a nice chunk of change."

"Spend it wisely, dumbass," she answered before cutting off the call.

It was times like these, she really did wish she had some goons. Noah Puckerman would be the first on her list. The two of them used to be pals, sure. When it was all good and fun. That was before Rachel landed that big audition, when Santana was still just a communications major and Puck was referring to himself as a photo journalist who took shots mostly of pigeons. It sure felt like a long time ago. Hell, it was a long time ago.

Fucking Rachel! No, no, fucking Finn Hudson! Santana seethed just thinking about him. Getting around another one of these 'Rachel Freakouts' was going to cost some money. That wasn't a problem. Rachel had plenty of it. But, Santana really wished that she'd stop giving Noah Puckerman a free show, because that guy was not getting a penny. Not after throwing them under the bus and heading for the darkside. No chance in hell.

When Santana's phone rang again, she didn't even think before answering, "And another thing, Assclown, stop fucking saying we have history. We had a few beers, like, years ago. We have history like Liberace had slight homosexual urges or Berry has subtlety. I've never given you any money for chasing around my client and I'm never going to, so knock off the insane fucking vendetta you have against us..."

"Wha-"

She heard a rebuttal coming on the other end, but she wasn't finished. In fact, she whipped the sheets off her and threw it into third gear. "Oh and also, your hair looks like some reverse mutant skunk. It's ridiculous. People laugh at you, Puck. Not just laugh, but howl. Literally. And that girl that you're banging? Zizes. Yeah, I know her. And I know she has The Herp. So why don't you fuck off and beg somebody to hold you down with a good set of clippers and do the whole fucking world a favor."

"Oh-kay."

Santana paused when she heard the voice. She pulled the phone away from her face and ran the number through her head a couple of times. "Who is this?"

"Hopefully not who you thought it was."

"Unless you're a shithead pap with a bad mohawk and even worse photography skills, then no," Santana answered icily. "But you're still fucking calling me at two in the morning, so now you're on my list, too."

"Uh...wrong number, I guess. I was trying to call my mom."

"Do I sound like your fucking mom? Do I have a motherly tone?"

"N-uh, no."

"Well, then, I really don't have the time or the patience to play Bedtime Stories with Mystery Caller, okay."

"I apologize for-"

"For what?" the angry woman huffed. "For being so incredibly rude. Phone etiquette dictates that you don't. fucking. call someone at two in the morning."

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did. You did mean to. You pressed send, regardless. And now I'm still awake and having a completely meaningless conversation with you. You're wasting my time, yours too, but exponentially more important, mine." She glanced at the clock again and clenched the phone tighter in her fist. "If I had goons, lady, I'd send them after you, too."

"Listen, Bitchy McBitcherson," the brunette was taken aback by the forcefulness of the tone. "It was an honest mistake. I'm sorry. Calm down. And I'm not even sure what _expendency_ means, but you're the one who's rude. You're the rudest phone answerer I've ever accidently wrong numbered. So...bye."

Santana was impressed for a millisecond and was even going to say so when she heard the click signaling the end of the call. She glanced at the number again. "Huh," she said to no one. She set the phone down, but promptly picked it back up to program the number as Mystery Caller. "Weird," she thought out loud. She studied the number. She gave serious thought to calling it back, but decided against it. Finally, she dropped her phone next to her and settled in for a few hours of sleep.

Which was roughly four hours.

Sleeping in was a luxury when you were the publicist for the "biggest star of this generation." Those were Rachel's words, certainly not hers. It was quite possibly true, but Santana would never, ever, under any circumstances actually admit that. Not of her own volition anyway. Okay, maybe she'd written that exact phrase in few releases, but it was her job to bullshit. As she gazed out her highrise window overlooking Manhattan, she snorted into her first cup of coffee. She spent 18 hours a day making a batshit crazy woman she could barely stand look like a squeaky clean, put together mega star. At least the view was nice. Rachel Berry certainly did pay well.

By the time Santana entered the Berry/Hudson residence that morning, Rachel's very put upon fashion guy, Kurt Hummel, was handing over her third cup of coffee. "How bad was last night?" she asked him quietly as they climbed the grand staircase heading for Rachel's master closet.

Yes. Master closet.

The man brushed back his hair with his usual annoying dramatic flair, "It must have been just awful. I saw the remnants of a broken Tony."

"Say it isn't so," Santana responded sarcastically.

"Featured actress," he waved it off as he opened the door and waited for her to enter. "She has another."

Santana took her usual seat on the couch while Kurt went through his morning routine. The publicist sipped her drink as she watched him agonize over which brown leather loafer was most likely to make it look like Rachel wasn't even trying to be trendy. "What are we going for today?" she asked.

He tapped his finger to his chin a few times before glancing up thoughtfully, "Sad-but-still-standing-by-my-man?"

"Oh," she scrunched her face in thought. "Not, depressed-because-my-fuckface-husband-won't-stop-groping-people-in-bathrooms?"

"Nope, People Magazine won't print that headline."

"He's making us look like idiots, Kurt."

"Not us," the man said offhandedly while comparing belts to the newly selected loafers for a color match. "Her."

"Us," Santana bit. "I'm the one who has to talk to all those bloodthirsty reporters with this, 'Their marriage has never been stronger' schtick."

"Uh huh," Kurt hummed while gliding over to the trophy display of watches in the accessory corner. "This is why I don't get personally invested, Santana. I show up and make her look fabulous, then I go home."

"You're full of shit, Hummel," the woman said as she propped her jean clad legs up on the couch. "You cried like a little wussy girl for a week last time they had a huge public blowout."

"No," he turned and pinned her with a glare. "I cried for a week because she was on Mr. Blackwell's Worst Dressed list. The timing was purely coincidental."

"Oh yeah," she smiled behind her Starbucks brew, "how are you still employed again?"

"She thinks it makes her edgy," Kurt sighed.

"It does make me edgy," Rachel announced as she stumbled into the room from her private entrance looking like Lindsay Lohan on a walk of shame. "But to my even greater advantage, it makes it seem as if the Big Bad Worst Dressed list makers are picking on me. It drums up public support, because everyone loves me. That, and honestly, pleated skirts are never out of style."

"I thought I burned all those," Kurt said in a panic, eyes darting around for anywhere she may have hidden one.

The Broadway diva ignored him. "Also, I have all the intercoms on and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop commenting on my marriage."

"It's my job to comment on your marriage, Rachel," Santana shot back. "In fact, I comment on your marriage everyday, all day, to several people a day, including you. So, in case you missed it the first time, I'll put in terms you can understand, the guy's a schmuck."

"He's not a schmuck."

"Oh yeah," Santana hopped up ready for the challenge. "What'd he do last night, Rach?"

She was pointedly ignored as Rachel took a sudden interest in Kurt's mission to find the perfect 'Rachel' gold plated necklace for the day's ensemble.

"Puckerman got some awesome pics of you, by the way," the publicist said with a light nudge.

Rachel pointed to a piece of jewelry in Kurt's hand and nodded her approval. "Well, that explains the pungent odor of muskrat and filth last night." She coughed a little into her hand, "I still taste it in my mouth. Can you go grab me a bottle of Tasmanian Rainwater, Santana?"

"Here, Rachel," Kurt handed over his own drink, "why don't you have some coffee and save the hard stuff for later?"

"Sylvester is probably going to have the video by the afternoon, if she doesn't already," Santana continued. "I'm sure all your fans are going to enjoy watching you perform an impromptu Fatal Attraction tribute with a pump in one hand and a Cosmo in the other. I'm sure it will be even better on Sue Sees It. You know, edited for content and such."

"She won't run it, she never does."

"She doesn't run it, Rachel, because I'm so fucking adept at cleaning up your messes."

"Which is exactly why I pay you so much money, Santana," Rachel replied as she kicked her pajamas across the floor and received their replacement from Kurt.

"You have to get rid of Hudson before we get into a situation that I can't control."

Rachel scoffed as she raised her arms for Kurt to pull a shirt over her head, "Get rid of him? I'm married to him."

"And?" the publicist laughed. "You were married to Jesse St. James for seventy two hours. Did you forget that? You probably did. You know how? Because I made it disappear."

"It or him?" Rachel questioned. "Because he's still yet to be heard from."

"What you don't know won't hurt you," Santana winked. "The cops would crush you like a twinkie, so it's best you only ask questions you can handle the answer to."

Rachel eyed her curiously and looked over to where Kurt was sliding his finger across his neck like a knife. "Nevermind."

"That's what I thought." Santana shot a quick grin at Kurt. "Now what are we to do about Funny Finny? Do you have a secret chamber we can lock him in?"

"I'll take care of Finn, Santana."

"Oh, you will? Because I thought we tried that approach."

"Seriously, you need to trust my judgment."

Santana looked Rachel over thoroughly. Kurt was doing the final touches of her I-had-a-rough-night-but-believe-me-I'm-fine shawl.

"I can't. Not when you take fashion advice from a guy who looks like he slathered on a crapload of honey, ran through a Salvation Army, and blindly declared whatever stuck to him a brand new trend."

"Hey," Kurt shouted indignantly. "Don't start on me."

"Take that back, Santana. Kurt Hummel is a brilliant fashionista," the star of the room said as she studied herself in the mirror.

"If brilliant is synonymous with cringeworthy homeless man apparel, then hell yes, he's the most brilliant pastel in the box."

The young designer threw the pajamas he had just collected at her. They landed in a bunch on her head. "Well, just so you know, you look like a lesbian in that blazer."

She rifled the clothes back at him. "I am a lesbian, Kurt."

"And you're doing an excellent job of broadcasting it," he said catching Rachel's pajamas and discarding them in a drawer.

The clothes in that drawer were probably never heard from again. They were most likely auctioned off to desperate Rachel Berry fans on eBay.

"I mean, seriously, Santana, you're not allergic to flattering cuts are you?"

Thankfully for him, a buzzing from the publicist's pocket momentarily distracted her. She slipped her phone out and was greeted by a new text.

**Mystery Caller**  
_So sorry again for last night. I hope this is a more respectable hour for phone interaction. Forgive me for saying this, but you should seek therapy._

She couldn't help but smile at the forwardness of the advice.

Kurt noticed with rapt attention. "You're smiling, who died?"

"Huh?" she asked, rereading the text. "Oh, it's nothing. Nobody. Just...last night..." she scratched her forehead and grasped for an explanation. "Wrong number. I...it's nothing."

"And you're stuttering," he smirked.

As soon as Rachel realized her spotlight was waning, she was intrigued. "Is it a sext? Let me see."

"No!"

"C'mon," the diva made a grab for her phone. The quick cat-like movement surprised Santana and Rachel's eyes lit up when the phone starting ringing in her hand. She looked overjoyed until she saw the name dance across the screen and shoved it back into its owner's hand. "Ew, gross, it's Sue Sylvester."

The publicist groaned and steeled herself for this sure to be shitastic conversation, "I didn't know they got cell reception in the depths of hell. Is this the first call from the seventh circle?"

"Guess what I have," Sylvester sidestepped the greeting.

"I know exactly what you have, Sue, and it should be treated immediately."

"American Inquisition is running the Berry video at two, Lopez."

"Awesome, do I need to register for that or will it come with my nonexistent subscription to Sad Crap Gossip Rag's special features?"

"American Inquisition at americaninquistion dot com," Sue growled. "You can just click on the 'Rachel's Finally Lost her Berries' link."

"Okay, wait a second...hold on..." Santana held her phone out a little before shouting, "Rachel grab me a notepad and a pen..." She shuffled the device a bit and then tapped on the mic just for giggles. "Just a second, Sue. We're writing down that information. Okay, okay, what was that address again? Oh yeah...www. national. enquirer's. younger. dumber. uglier. bitch of a second rate cousin. at scumsuckers. dot. net. Got it. Thanks Sue."

"Insult me all you want..."

"I will."

"But I'm uploading it."

"No, you're not," Santana said as she rolled her eyes at Rachel running back into the room with a notepad and pen. "You're not because I'm going to get you something better and you know it. That's why you called."

"What do you have to offer me, Lopez?" Sue sounded downright giddy. "I've already got your Jewish Polly Pocket crawling across a bar and swinging at a defenseless girl with an empty bottle of Cristal."

Santana shot Rachel a look, "Really?" she mouthed.

"What?" the movie star shrugged, completely oblivious to both the discussion on the phone and what she did the previous night. "Okay, Lucifer, we'll give you whatever we gave you last time."

"Triple."

"No fucking way!"

"Oh my," Sue chuckled. "Right now, I'm watching in slow motion as her hulk of a husband is throwing her over his shoulder and giving us an upskirt. I thought the Golden Ticket's golden thongs were only a myth."

Santana cringed. "We'll give you double and an interview."

"On camera?"

"She's making her usual rounds today. You'll be able to find her. Exclusively. On camera. Ask her about her new movie and she'll give you plenty of sound bites. But, no mention of last night and ditch the video."

There was a long pause before Sue agreed with, "Fine."

"And send Jacob Ben Israel. Rachel will only talk to JBI. Those other rats you have working for you creep her out."

"Nice work," Kurt commented as she punched the red button on her screen.

"That's why she pays me so much money," she said as she dusted off the shoulders of her lesbian blazer.

"JBI, though, Santana?" Rachel complained. "I said he creeps me out _more_ than the rest of them."

"Oh?"

Kurt covered his laugh with his hand, "Honest mistake."

"Honest mistake," she repeated and clicked through to find the last message she received. "I'm gonna..." she pointed at the door. "I'll catch up with you before JBI, k?"

"Sure," Rachel nodded, already enthralled by the glint of whatever earrings Kurt was holding up next to her face.

She went back and forth in her mind for a few seconds before hastily scrolling down to place a call.

"Hello?" came a gruff voice on the other end of the line.

She stopped in her tracks on the grand staircase, "Uh...you sound decidedly less female than you did last night. And a little like James Bond."

"This is Sean Connery and I bet you're looking for Brittany," she heard a muffled voice and a thwack. The next voice she recognized and was surprised by the sudden feeling of warmth that invaded her body, "Mom? I'm sorry, Sam's being a doofus. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I had Tina look at the suspected mole on my back and it was definitely just a freckle. So you can just disregard the panicky voicemail and stop cruising webMD."

Santana smiled, "Still not your mom."

There was a long pause and another thwack followed by a wail.

"Um," the girl continued, though this time not nearly as cheerfully. "Midnight answerer?"

"Mystery caller?"

"Brittany, actually."

"Yeah, I gathered from your boyfr-guy...who does a really terrible Sean Connery," Santana stumbled. "You should let him know that."

"I will," came the sharp reply.

"I just wanted to apologize for the rant last night, I _was_ rude. I was dealing with a...situation. I usually don't yell at misdialing strangers, so I'm sorry," the brunette offered.

"Hm."

"Not good enough?" Santana asked as she made room in the elevator for an incoming couple.

"You were really mean."

"I was, wasn't I?" the publicist winced. "Well, in my defense, for most of that conversation, I thought I was talking to someone else."

"And they deserve to get yelled at?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"I guess I'll take your word for it," phone girl said after a playful sigh.

"And I'll take your advice into consideration...Brittany."

"You do that." Santana could hear the smile in the girl's voice. "Okay, now that I've embarrassed myself twice, at least tell me your name so I can apologize properly for waking you up."

"You didn't. I told you, I was dealing with a situation," the New Yorker stated as she walked out the front door of Rachel Berry's apartment building and entered the bustling streets of the city. "And there's no way I'm telling you my name, you could be an axe murderer or something."

"Yeah, right. I don't even know where you are."

"NYC, baby," Santana said as she filed along with the foot traffic and did a little fist pump with pride.

"Ahh, I'm in Seattle, so you're probably safe."

"Oh, I don't know about all that," the brunette teased as she passed her favorite pizza place.

"No need to feel threatened."

"Threatened? Ha. No. Let's just say that you're the first person who's put me in my place in a long time," Santana answered. "I respect that."

"You respect me now? That's an improvement over rude time waster."

"You have spunk. I like spunk." Santana entered Vic's Diner with a wave at Vic. She looked around until blonde hair caught her eye. "Take care of yourself, Brittany from Seattle."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"He's a dinosaur, Britt!" Sugar Motta exclaimed from her seat as she drummed her newly manicured fingernails against the wood. "He's old and he keeps saying, 'I've been in the game for years, kids'. It's condescending."

"Sugar's right," Blaine agreed. He unconsciously straightened his bowtie as he propped his Converse on the large oak table that ran nearly the length of the room. "He's got nothing."

"As much as I hate to say this, I'm with Sugar and Blaine," Artie replied as he rolled his wheelchair up to the table. "I love the guy, I do. You know I do."

"We all do," Blaine spoke up. "But he's dropping the ball here."

"I understand where you're coming from, " Brittany said as she stared out over the city and watched the late morning drizzle give way to the sun. She spun around in her chair and caught the table to stop her momentum. After a moment, she ran her fingers through her long blonde hair in frustration. "I know he hasn't really contributed lately."

"Understatement!" Sugar squealed.

"But!" Brittany eyed her. "He's not a dinosaur. He's barely 40. And he's just in a little slump."

"Huge slump," Blaine murmured.

"He's part of our team, we're not kicking him out."

"He's supposed to be our jingle man, Britt," Artie argued. "And he hasn't written anything in months."

"That's a lie, he has written stuff," the blonde argued. "It's just not very jingly."

"The last thing he wrote had the same tune as the Halloween theme," Sugar reminded them.

Brittany nodded sadly. "Hey, what about the one about the Sham Wow meeting the wet wipe and falling in love? That was really good."

"Honey," Sugar leaned in to take her hand, "it had an eight minute instrumental break and ended with a chorus of 'Die, Wet Wipe, die.' I don't think that meets the criteria Whoopsies is looking for."

"I thought it was catchy and was the perfect description of the product...until the end and the uncontrollable sobbing," Brittany shrugged. "He's going through a painful divorce, guys. We can't kick the guy when he's down."

"Okay, well, let's just nudge him really hard, then," Blaine accentuated the words with a kick from his propped foot. "You're the team leader on this, Britt. It's your call, but we're going to be in trouble if you don't do something."

"It's not like we haven't had to get past everybody's little quirks," Brittany pointed at all of them. "Blaine, we've all overlooked the schellacking on your head, Artie's always sitting down on the job-"

"That's completely inappropriate," Artie said under his breath.

"And Sugar-"

"I'll give you a thousand dollars if you skip over me," Sugar said as she reached into her purse to pull out a wad of cash.

Brittany accepted the money and then announced with conviction, "You made my point for me. Thanks."

The round table discussion was effectively ended when the man in question slunk into the room. His appearance was disheveled to put it mildly. The knot of his tie hung loosely around his neck and he pulled on it a little more. The man satchel that he often carried was obviously empty, as it was just folded and shoved into his jacket pocket. The metal buckle of the strap hit against his thigh with each step. The shirt he had on, Brittany could have sworn he'd worn for at least the last week and a half. It had a telling ketchup stain, or from the smell that permeated the room, maybe a Bloody Mary stain.

"Hi kids," Will greeted them with what was probably meant to be a smile, but ended up as a one sided grimace.

"Hey Schue," Artie said grimly.

"Bless you," Brittany patted Artie's back before turning to Will. "How ya doing today?"

"Better," the older man acknowledged. "Emma's still packing. It's taking longer because, as you know, all her belongings must be stored in air tight containers, categorized, logged alphabetically and color coded in her Big Ugly Divorce Binder."

"Maybe if you didn't call it the Big Ugly Divorce Binder," Blaine suggested.

"No, that's it's name," Will assured him. "She typed up a title page, laminated it, and stuck it in the front plastic covering. It's the Big Ugly Divorce Binder."

"Ah," the younger man said and looked desperately for someone else to steer the conversation.

"But seeing as this is day," Will gave quick glance to where a watch would normally be on his wrist, "fifty seven of that process, it is getting easier."

"Good," Brittany smiled brightly. "Okay, we have anything new for today?"

"Actually," Artie hooked his thumb toward the basket on his wheelchair. "Britt, if you don't mind grabbing my laptop."

"Sure," the blonde said cheerily and leaned over.

Artie took the opportunity to give her a tiny sniff before catching himself, "I finished a few designs-"

He was promptly cut off by the thump of Will's head hitting the table. "Why?" he shrieked. "Why is she leaving me?"

Sugar rolled her eyes and stood up to leave, "I just can't work under these conditions. I'm taking a spa day."

Blaine gave Will an awkward pat on the back before scooting backwards in his chair while Artie silently shut his computer.

"Guys!" Brittany hissed to no avail.

"Do something," Blaine mouthed before stalking out the door.

Brittany took a deep breath, "Should I call your therapist again?"

"No," Will cried. "It'll pass."

She did have to call his therapist again, because after a few hours of crying, Will's body became rigid in a manner that Brittany referred to as his 'Lockjaw of Sadness.' She watched uncomfortably as the agency's security team loaded him into his car.

"You think he'll be okay?" Dave Karofsky, head of security, asked after he shut the car door.

"Oh yeah," the blonde answered. "He'll be fine...eventually."

Dave didn't seem convinced as he tilted his head to look inside the vehicle. Will was staring at the steering wheel as he ran his hands over it in continuous circles singing 'bye bye Miss American Pie' over and over. "Whatever you say, Britt," Karofsky said with a pat on her back.

She knocked on the window before she left the parking garage and offered the depressed guy a winning smile and wave."Have a nice night, Will."

An hour later, Brittany was approaching the entrance to her apartment complex in downtown Seattle. She pulled an ear bud out as she tugged on one of the double doors.

"Hey Rory," she slapped hands with the young lad the large desk in the lobby.

"Lovely day, huh, Britt?" the boy replied with his Irish garble.

"Great day!" the blonde agreed.

She was singing along quietly when the arrival of the elevator at the sixth floor was signaled by a ding. Upon the doors screeching open, Wes Brody was waiting with a smile.

"Hey kiddo," Brittany greeted him with a wink and grabbed a piece of gum out of her pocket. "You're still my boyfriend, right?" she asked.

"Duh! You have the best gum," the seven year old answered like it was foregone conclusion. She watched as he ran down the corridor to his own apartment.

"Hey there, Sugar Dumplin' Rice Krispy," April Rhodes slurred as she gave her a slap on the ass as she passed. The continuously drunk woman held out a styrofoam cup, "Would you like a lil sippy sip sip of my Alabammer Slammer?"

"No thanks," Brittany declined. "Did you get locked out again?"

April thought about this for a long moment.

Brittany waited.

"What?" the older lady asked.

"Did you lock yourself out again?"

"Oh, no," April gestured all around. "Just enjoying the crisp night air."

Instead of questioning this, Brittany walked over to her door and turned the handle. It was open, so she guided April back into her apartment. "The air is just as crisp in here, I promise."

"Oh, it is," the drunk woman agreed. "Thanks Butter Biscuit."

"No problem," she answered as she locked the door from the inside and left. Brittany glided by a few more doors and paused as she saw Mike and Tina Cohen-Chang locking up for what looked like a night out.

"You guys look awesome," she supplied.

"Thank you," Tina smiled at the compliment.

"You look fantastic as well," Mike winked and grabbed her for a quick spin. He was always doing that."

"Big date?"

"Michael wants to do some dancing," Tina told her as she clutched her fiancee's arm.

"Hey, you should go out," Mike suggested.

"No, no," Brittany shrugged of the invitation. "I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be-"

"Intruding at all," Mike finished Tina's sentence.

Brittany smiled at how cute they were. "Not tonight, but maybe soon."

"We're holding you to it," the other young lady promised with her brow arched.

"Okay, okay," Brittany called over her shoulder and pressed into her door to get it to budge. "Have fun tonight.

She shuffled through her mostly bare apartment and tossed her keys and purse on the table beside the door. Lord Tubbington met her with a quick meow and a purr that let her know he was hungry. Lord T was pretty much always hungry, though. She gave the lock a quick turn before taking a food packet out of the cabinet and emptying some tuna delight into Tubby's food bowl. After giving the cat a few pats on the head, she searched for signs of Sam. When she didn't immediately find him sacked out in front of the television playing Call of Duty, she called for him...nothing. She kicked a pair of dirty jeans out of the way and nudged open his door just enough to stick her nose in the space. "Sammy?" Still nothing. Finally, making a trek toward the fridge, she noticed a bright yellow sticky note.

_B,_  
_Hot date with 4B. Don't wait up._  
_Sambo!_

She chuckled as she took the note down, "Good for you, Sam." The blonde rummaged through the fridge until she found some Chinese food that didn't smell bad and threw it in the microwave. She searched for an extra pair of chopsticks in the catchall drawer and got halfway to the couch before she thought better of it. She washed off a fork from the sink instead. "Dinner is served," she said to herself.

After she finished, she set the empty carton on the coffee table and laid back against the arm of the couch. What in the world was she going to do about Will? She couldn't force him out. Will, when he wasn't in a free fall of despair, was brilliant. That's why she had fought to get him on her team. But, the others were right. Their pitch for the ad campaign for Whoopsies (seriously, it's like Sham Wow meets wet wipe) was quickly approaching and Will was an empty well. This was a puzzle, and Brittany wasn't exactly the best at solving puzzles. Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier and when she felt the weight of Lord Tubbington settle on her feet, she finally let them close.

She was awakened after what seemed like just a few minutes by a buzzing across the room. It was her phone. She was briefly inclined to just ignore it and go back to sleep, but it could be work or her little sister in Colorado. She begrudgingly walked over to her purse and rifled for a second to find it. She smiled at the banner staring back at her.

**Midnight Answerer**  
_Santana. My name is Santana._

The blonde bit her lip. Her heart sped up in her chest and her tummy dropped. She was nervous. Why was she nervous? Oh yeah, because the Midnight Answerer was probably the biggest bitch she'd never met, but she also had the sexiest voice that had ever graced her ears. It was sultry and deliciously raspy. She had the cutest cadence, so that her words danced a little. And after she had confessed that she lived in New York, Brittany could detect the slightest accent. The edges were smoothed out, but an occasional 'aw' was still there. She suddenly had the undeniable urge to hear that voice again and nervously made the phone call.

"Well," came that luscious tone. "If it isn't Brittany from Seattle?"

"And Santana from New York," Brittany replied. "Beautiful name, by the way."

"Thanks, but that's all my parents, I really had nothing to do with it."

"Of course not," the blonde laughed and collapsed on the couch. Everything was going so well until she realized she had no idea what to say to someone she didn't even know. "Yeah...so..."

"Compelling," was the smart ass reply. "Is that what you called to say?"

"Are you always so..."

"Bitchy?" Santana answered. "Yes. Actually, what was it? Bitchy McBitcherson."

"I'm sorry about that."

"No, don't be," she said quickly. "It was fantastic."

Another pause.

"So how was your day?"

"Busy," Santana answered. "Really busy. Ra- uh, work keeps me busy. Going nonstop."

"Ah," Brittany said. She suddenly panicked. "Wait, are you busy now? Am I interrupting?"

"No, no, not at all. I texted you, remember?"

"Yeah," the West Coaster relaxed. "Just making sure. You know, you woke _me_ up this time."

"Really? It's only like 7 out there, right? Did you have a rough day?"

The blonde sighed, "Uh, kind of...maybe, but you don't want to hear about that."

"Sure, I do."

"Are you sure?"

"Lay it on me."

"Okay, well," Brittany curled into ball and tried to explain the situation. "There's this guy that I work with."

"What's his name?"

"Uh...Will?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No, no," Brittany laughed. "It's Will."

"Not Sam? That's the James Bond guy, right?"

"Wow, yeah, good memory," Brittany was surprised. "Sam is my roommate."

"Sam is your roomie, gotcha." Santana sounded pleased. "So Will, not Sam. Go ahead."

"Is this weird?" the blonde questioned.

"Not yet," Santana chuckled. "I mean, I guess it depends on what kind of a work problem you have. It could probably get pretty fucking weird if you're going to confess some secret sexual copy room fetish or if Will's actually your pimp. "

"It's nothing like that," Brittany laughed. "I meant us."

"Us, huh?"

"Talking about our days like we know each other."

"Do you feel weird?"

Brittany thought about that question for a few moments. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and answered honestly. "No, not really. Do you?"

It was Santana's turn to pause. "Strangely, no. I like you. I'm not sure why, but I hope to find out."

"Good," the blonde whispered. There was silence for several minutes. Brittany could hear the other woman's light breaths over the line."I really like your voice," she admitted quietly.

"Thank you," Santana replied just as softly. "So tell me about your work problem."

"Oh, yeah, Will." Brittany sat back up on the couch and searched for the clock. She wondered if Sam would be back at all tonight. For some reason she felt like she could get caught with her hand in the cookie jar. And then she thought about how dirty that sounded. And then she thought about why she would make that analogy. And then she thought about chances of a situation developing in which there could possibly be a 'hand in the cookie jar' type of conversation.

"Brittany? You still there?"

"Yeah, of course, I was thinking about..cookies. Sorry," the blonde covered. "He's going through a divorce."

"Will?"

"Yeah."

"Yikes."

"He's taking it pretty hard."

"Of course," Santana sympathized. "I would imagine."

"And well, he's not doing his job, like, at all," Brittany felt guilty for relaying the information. "And the rest of my team is not very happy with him or me for giving him so much slack."

"So they want to give him the boot?"

Brittany thought for a second, "Nah, not boots. But he could definitely use another shirt. I think he's been wearing the same one for a while."

Santana laughed. When Brittany didn't, she make a strangled coughing sound and sort of tumbled out, "That sounds horrible."

"It is." Brittany shared, "He's a good friend and he's really good at what he does, but we have deadlines and there are other people depending on this deal. He's just completely unjingly right now. You know?"

"That's a tough call to make."

"Yeah."

"Damn," Santana said with more than a little aggravation. "Hey Britt, I'm getting a call from...work."

"Oh," the blonde glanced at the clock again. "It's late for work."

"I have the kind of job that's sort of on-call all the time."

"Are you a doctor or something?"

"Oh, hell, no," the New Yorker scoffed. "That's my dad, not me. No way."

"Oh."

"How about we talk again soon and I'll tell you about it," Santana suggested. "And you can tell me why you need a whole team and what exactly unjingly means."

"Sounds great," a grin stretched across Brittany's face just knowing there was a possibility.

"And you'll figure it out...Will, I mean. I have a feeling you're an amazing friend and it sounds like that what he needs more than anything."

"Thanks," Brittany took the compliment to heart. "Bye Santana from New York."

"Take care Brittany from Seattle."

Brittany ended the call and stared at her phone. She edited Midnight Answerer to Santana and chewed on her fingernail while admiring the name and number. The blonde stayed like that until Lord Tubbington took his rightful position at her feet.

"Tubbs, I feel like something good is coming our way," she smiled and hugged her phone to her chest like a lifeline.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I just don't know what's gotten into her. It's like she's on drugs. Or insanely hormonal," Kurt complained as he and Santana dodged the slower walkers on the street. He stopped when he saw a lady trying to pass with a baby stroller. "Oh my God, Santana, do you think she's pregnant?"

Santana, who hadn't stopped, turned on her heel and slapped him across the face in one fluid motion. "Don't ever put that out into the universe, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt, who was in minor shock, reached up to work out the stinging in his jaw. "Good grief, woman!"

"Do you have any idea what that would do to us?" The publicist asked Rachel's personal designer with a finger pointing hard at his chest. She shivered in her moderately expensive boots. "Rachel. Pregnant. She'd be a fucking demon on speed. She'd make Hitler look like a decent guy who was just a little misunderstood. And the spawn? I can't even imagine what kind of evils would be packed into a Berry/Hudson hybrid. It boggles the mind."

"Chill out!" Kurt yelled. He stretched his mouth a few directions still trying to get the kinks out. "That was completely unnecessary, by the way."

"The slap or the implication that Rachel's baby would be a be a tiny Lord Voldemort?"

Kurt looked affronted by the question. "The slap," he practically squalled. "Rachel's potential child would absolutely be a tiny Lord Voldemort...with Finn's dopey grin."

"I can already see the gassy infant look on an actual gassy infant."

"While I agree that I'm tempting the fates," Kurt said between trying to pop to his jaw back in place, "that really hurt."

Santana reached up and pinched his cheek. "Sorry, Porcelain."

"Ow," the man pushed her hand away. "I asked you never to call me that."

"It's cute, and you can't argue your pale, delicate quality," Santana said as she turned and continued down the sidewalk.

Kurt rushed to catch up with her. "You never did mention how lunch with Quinn went," he said as he tucked his arm through hers.

"I didn't," the woman dismissed the implied question as they walked step for step.

"How is she?"

"Married."

Kurt tugged on her arm. "C'mon, Santana. How is she doing?"

"Great," Santana shrugged. "That's what she told me."

"Well good for her."

Santana nodded, "Yep."

"You haven't convinced her to move back yet?"

"Nope, she's a mother. She has a family now," the brunette reached up to tug at her easy to manage ponytail as they entered one of the nicest buildings on the Upper West Side. "She's happy where she is, Kurt."

"Oo-kay."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Santana shot him a glare.

"I'm just saying," he said, pulling one hand up defensively.

"Well, stop just saying," she ordered. "What about you, what's going on with you?"

"I just happen to have a date this Friday," Kurt confessed. "Assuming Rachel Berry's oh-so-important schedule doesn't interfere."

"That's great, Kurt," Santana smiled genuinely. "Who's the lucky fella?"

"I don't really know him all that well. We met at one of Rachel's soirees, I think he's a senator's son."

"Well, I'll try my best to make sure she's otherwise engaged on Friday night."

"Thanks. I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"And if that doesn't work," Santana grinned as they reached their destination. "I'll have some Ambien ready to slip into her Tasmanian Rainwater."

"Finally!" Rachel huffed as soon as she caught sight of them. "I thought you two would never show up."

"We're fifteen minutes early, Rachel," Santana said as she dropped into a nearby chair.

"I was about to send Beiste out looking for you," the movie star continued dramatically. "I simply cannot have my inner circle missing in action."

Oh no," the publicist motioned for her to stop. "You're not allowed to call us 'the inner circle' anymore after I read your attempt at erotic novels."

"For the last time, it was a metaphor," Rachel huffed.

"Still gross." Santana looked over to Shannon Bieste, the leader of Rachel's team of bodyguards. "Beiste, we're right here. All accounted for. No need to deploy."

"I see that, Ms. Lopez," Beiste tried not to smile at her antics before turning her attention to Rachel. "Ms. Berry, would you like Figgins to pull the car around?"

"I'm not going to walk through the park and then 40 blocks, so yes, I would love it if Figgins brought the car around."

"See, hormonal," Kurt whispered before sauntering off toward the master closet, no doubt. When he was anxious, only Armani could calm him.

Santana narrowed in on Rachel. She _was_ even crazier than normal. She was flying off the handle at every little thing. Of course, it could be her working double time to keep a leash on her wandering husband. It might be the movie that she directed that was in post production. The stress of the upcoming album could be getting to her. But it never hurt to do a bit more digging.

"Hey, Rach," the publicist called. "Can I have a word?"

"Do we need to prep for this interview?"

"No, Fallon won't ask you anything too tough," Santana answered. "I've cleared the questions. Just Finn, Run Joey Run, a teaser about the record, throw in that hilarious vacation story about the kickboxing kangaroo. But if it starts to get dicey, and this is only to be used as an audible, Rachel. _If_. Then use the whole three Jewish parents and a Christmas fern bit."

"Okay," the star nodded quickly.

"I've got a question, though," Santana drew a bit closer. "I'm only asking because it's my job to know."

"Okay," Rachel ducked in further.

"And I need to stay ahead of it, if you...are."

The celebrity looked up, "If I'm...what?"

"Knocked up. Preggers. With child. Basically, is there a bun in your oven?"

"NO!" the small woman's eyes widened.

"Are you sure?"

Rachel scoffed, "Am I sure? Of course, I'm sure. Why would you even ask?"

"I, I don't know, Kurt-"

"Kurt?" Rachel gasped. Her hand flew to her chest in outrage. "Kurt thinks I'm pregnant? Am I getting fat?"

"No!"

"Oh my God!"

"Rachel, no, no," Santana tried to quiet her.

"Kurt!" Rachel screamed. "Kurrrrt!"

After watching her charge up the master stair case, Santana heard a chuckle to her left. "Now seems like a good time to deploy, eh, Ms. Lopez," Beiste said with a smirk.

It felt like days instead of hours later when Santana slipped into her slightly bigger than a shoebox, rent controlled, but still ridiculously expensive Manhattan apartment. She just wanted to shower and crawl into bed. She passed by her answering machine and noticed the blinking 3. She stared at the number appear, then disappear, then reappear. Finally, she punched the button.

_You have three new messages. _

_First message._

"_Mija, it's your mother. Remember me? You were supposed to call last weekend. I gave you a two day grace period. Your time is up. Call me back._

Santana smiled at her mother's voice. She had forgotten to call, of course. She needed to do that. And she would, tomorrow.

_Next message_.

"_Hey San, it's me. I had a great time at lunch last week. Same time, same place next month, right? You don't have to get back to me ASAP. Just let me know. Oh, and...you seemed kind of weird, is ever-_

The woman cut the message off there.

_Next message._

"_You're a bitch, Santana Lopez. You'll pay for this! I'll see you tomorrow."_

That made Santana double over with laughter. Rachel had badgered Kurt for the rest of day. His interrogation was complete with an actual lie detector test that covered questions from "Is your name really Kurt Elizabeth Hummel?" to "Does Rachel Berry look grotesque in swimwear?"

The laughing continued down her short hallway into the bathroom. She took the hottest shower she could manage for all of three minutes. Toweling her hair, she made her way into the kitchen and looked in the fridge.

"Call mom. Buy food," she made a note to herself. She finally saw a cup of yogurt hiding behind what was a probably a two week old pizza box.

Santana made short time of piling the pillows up on her bed and grabbing her laptop for her nightly check of the "news." Making sure there were no outstanding stories going around about Rachel and begrudgingly Finn, she clicked over to real news.

After a few minutes, she looked over to her phone out of the corner of her eye. She checked the time. It was around 9 in Seattle. She shook her head, trying to shake out the thought. She should go to sleep. Rachel would still be on a rampage tomorrow. Kurt would be on a mission for revenge, and she would be exhausted. She should most certainly not be thinking about calling a woman she didn't even know, a woman that lived 3000 miles away.

She shouldn't be, but she was.

She grabbed her iPhone and swiped her thumb across the screen. She pressed the green phone button and scrolled until she found 'Brittany from Seattle.' Her finger hovered over the name. She tapped the side a few times, closed her eyes and pressed down.

"Hello." That was all it took. Relief washed through her and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

"Hi," she breathed.

"I wondered if you'd ever call back."

Santana leaned further into her pillows, "I said I would, didn't I?"

"You did, but then you waited more than week."

"I was busy," she answered then groaned at the flimsy excuse. "That's shitty, I know, but it's true."

"That's okay. I was mostly kidding."

"Still a shitty excuse."

"Nah," Brittany said lightly.

"So how did it go with Will?"

"Not much of a change unfortunately." Brittany answered dejectedly. "I did convince the rest of the team to give him just a bit longer, though."

"That was nice of you."

"I'm not so sure it will make a difference, though. We don't exactly have a lot of time to waste."

"What do you do?" Santana was curious. "That's if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all," the New Yorker could hear the excitement in her voice. "I work for an advertising agency. New Directions Ad Agency, actually. We're in the creative process for a pretty important ad campaign right now."

"That sounds cool."

"It is," Brittany said. "And Will's our jingle guy."

"Hence the unjingly."

"No, it has nothing to do with hens or anything, he just hasn't written anything useful in a while."

"Uh...yeah," Santana did a mental rehash of everything she just said. "I gotcha. So, commercials?"

"Commercials," Brittany confirmed. "And print ads and radio spots, but my favorite is commercials."

"It fits," the brunette smiled at a piece of the puzzle sliding into place.

"Yeah?" Brittany seemed to like that Santana thought so. "I kind of have a knack for taglines and slogans."

Santana's interest was piqued, "Anything I'd know?"

"Hmm, uh, do you remember when Duck Tape was briefly making outerwear? There was a commercial with a little boy in a duct tape rain suit and fisherman's hat..."

"No way," Santana sat up in bed. "'The duck's in the hat' was you?"

"That was me."

"I'm a fan of your work," she said as she pulled up YouTube and quickly typed in the semi-famous phrase.

"I appreciate that," Brittany replied. "Then there was an ad we made for Safer Waters International. My slogan didn't go over so well in the US, but in Japan, the interpretation was 'Dolphins are Happy Sharks', so it was pretty successful overseas."

"That's...interesting." Something about this woman was uncommonly delightful, Santana thought. "It sounds like you really love it. So few people really love what they do."

"I do love it," Brittany stated. "I don't think there's anything else like it. You know, creating something so compact and informative from scratch that so many people see and memorize. I want to make the next big ad success. I want to be the one that creates another 'Buy the World a Coke', or Just Do It, or that hilarious Geico pig. It's just, commercials are so powerful. So are print ads, I'm not saying they're not. But...there's something about the jingle plus the images plus the product. It's amazing."

"Wow," the New Yorker was impressed by the other woman's passion. "And I usually just fast forward through commercials."

"Oh," Brittany said. "Well, that's okay. It's really a dying art."

"I'll stop, though," Santana said quickly. "I mean, unless it's a tampon or laxative commercial. I can still fast forward those, right?"

"You have my permission," Brittany granted. "So what do you do, Miss Not a Doctor?"

"I'm not sure it's as magical as commercials."

"Try me."

"Okay," Santana swallowed hard. "Do you know who Rachel Berry is?"

"Of course," Brittany said nonchalantly. "Catwoman."

"Huh?" Santana was confused for a moment. "Oh, no. That's Hal-le Berry. I'm talking about Rachel Berry."

"Yeah, the chick in New Year's Eve."

"You're still thinking Halle Berry," the brunette shook her head. "Rachel Berry was in Loser Like Me."

"I'm not sure I saw that."

"Okay, what about Get It Right?"

"Is that about vampires?"

"No, it's a rom com."

"Then, no."

Santana scratched her forehead. This was proving to be more difficult than she thought. "Okay, did you see Glee? That movie about the high school show choir?"

"Of course, everybody did."

"The lead actress in that movie is Rachel Berry."

"Oh, yeah, okay. What about her?"

Santana smiled, "I work for her, I'm her publicist."

"Oh," Brittany was obviously surprised. "That might be cooler than commercials."

"I doubt it."

"Hold on just a sec," Brittany ordered. Santana heard a bit of muffled movement and then the faint sounds of typing. "Rachel Barbra Berry from Staten Island, New York..."

"Dammit!" Santana exclaimed suddenly. "She's been editing her wikipedia page again. Her middle name is Constance and she's from Lima, Ohio."

"Her husband looks familiar."

"Finn Hudson," Santana supplied. "He was a big deal for approximately thirty seconds when everyone thought the was going to be some Hall of Fame worthy superstar."

"He's an athlete?"

"If you want to be technical, sure. He was the backup quarterback for the Jets for like a day and a half."

"I'm not much of a sports fan," Brittany sounded apologetic.

"Not much of a sports fan? C'mon Britt. He had that drive down the field with a minute twelve left on the clock."

"Don't remember."

"It was the playoffs!"

"...kay."

Finally it hit Santana, "Oh yeah, Seattle. Alright, well, he was the talk of the town for a couple of months. At least until everyone found out he was a one hit wonder...or rather a 'three passes and one running flail into the endzone' wonder."

"Wait a second, are you talking about that guy on Dancing with the Stars last season?"

"The one who twirled off the stage and into a cameraman."

"That's where I know him!" Brittany exclaimed. "That was brutal! Did that guy make it? I never saw anything else after he was hauled away in the ambulance."

"The camera guy? Oh yeah. He was hospitalized for a week and lost some mobility in his left arm, but he's fine. Got season tickets to the Jets out of it. J-E-T-S, go Jets, go."

Brittany couldn't stop laughing, "He was the _worst_!"

"He really was," Santana joined in.

"No, seriously, it was hard to watch. I love that show and I almost had to give it up because of that guy."

Santana agreed. "It was like watching a really large unattractive robot being shot at from all directions."

"Now you're being mean to robots."

Santana roared with laughter. "You love Dancing with the Stars, huh?"

"Yeah," Brittany quieted. "It was sort of a dream of mine to be on it once upon a time."

"So you're a dancer, too?"

"Was," Brittany replied shortly.

Santana took that as a cue to abandon the subject.

After a few moments, Brittany rekindled the conversation, "So you hang out with celebrities?"

"It's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds," the brunette said.

"That's still really neat, though. I've only met one celebrity in my whole life."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, well, his name is Cooper, he's an actor," Brittany explained, "and my friend's brother. He does a lot of commercials, some of them have even run nationally. He does the best pounding headache I've ever seen."

"And how is he at receiving the news from his physician about contracting genital herpes?" Santana asked jokingly.

"Pretty good," the other woman replied seriously. "Personal experience to draw from really helps in commercial acting."

"Obviously," Santana snorted.

"You know who I've always wanted to meet, though?"

"Who?"

"Britney Spears." Brittany informed her. "You ever met her?"

"Yeah, actually," Santana tried to sound unimpressed. "I met her at the Grammys once."

"And it's not glamorous," the woman in Seattle teased.

"It's really not," the brunette claimed. "Why Britney Spears?"

"Oh," there was a light chuckle, "I always thought we had some kind of cosmic connection. She's Britney Spears and I'm Brittany S. Pierce."

"Pierce?" Santana locked it into memory immediately. "Brittany S. Pierce," she tested on her tongue. "What's the S for?"

"Susan," Brittany admitted shyly. "It's my mom's name."

"Excellent name."

"Thanks."

Santana reveled in the fact that had gotten a last name for a few seconds before her eye caught the time on her clock. She groaned out loud.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," the New Yorker said. "Just that I should be sleeping."

"Oh," Brittany was disappointed. "Yeah, it's late there."

"Will we talk later?" Santana's voice sounded more desperately hopeful than she wanted.

"Hopefully sooner."

"Hopefully," Santana echoed. "Goodnight Brittany S. Pierce."

"Sweet dreams, Santana."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"We agreed. No googling!" Brittany talked at her phone as it rested on the back of her couch. She folded another t-shirt into a square and patted it down on the rest of the stack. She had talked to Santana a few times in the last couple of weeks. It was never very long. A little like checking in with a good friend that had moved, so it was mainly sporadic phone calls filled with mundane details of the day. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was weird.

Not weird in a bad way. Weird that she craved it. Getting a call from Santana was the happiest surprise of her day. Which is why she couldn't keep the smile off her face, even as she scolded Santana for bringing up the g-word.

"I think I was drunk the night we decided that."

"Nope."

"Are you seriously saying you haven't been tempted to find out what I look like?" Santana asked. "Not at all?"

"Of course, I'm curious," Brittany answered. "But we agreed."

"Can we amend the agreement?"

"Is that some type of religious practice?" Brittany stopped folding and looked at the phone like it would give her answers. "I'm not Catholic, Santana."

The other woman chuckled knowingly. "Change, Britt. Can we change it?"

"I'm not so sure I want to."

"Why?"

Brittany rolled her eyes. "You sure are determined."

"I'm a visual person."

"Or you're completely shallow and want to make sure I don't look like Gollum or something."

"I'm not shallow," Santana started, but after Brittany snorted, she knew she probably wouldn't get far. "I'm not _that_ shallow."

"Uh huh," the blonde obviously didn't buy it for a second.

"Okay," Santana started, "when I picture you, I see...sunshine, and rainbows...and unicorns munching on heart shaped cotton candy. You're so sweet and bright. I'm dying to know what that looks like personified."

"Bright?" Brittany questioned. "I haven't been called bright many times in my life. Like ever."

Santana let a few moments pass before saying, "That's a shame, Brittany, because I think you're one of the brightest people I've ever talked to."

Brittany took a seat on the couch, grabbed her phone and took it off speaker. "Do you want to know what I see when I picture you?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"When I picture you, I picture a lounge singer on a piano in a smoky bar in the 40s. Or possibly the 20s, I was never good at history. You're mysterious...and addictive.".

Brittany gave Santana a few seconds to take it in before the other woman replied with, "Good addictive or bad addictive?"

"I'm not sure yet," the blonde said honestly. "Maybe you're a bubblegum flavored cigarette."

"Can I be a cigar instead?"

"Anything you want," Brittany told her sweetly.

"Anything?" Santana asked in a tone that was a little more than PG. "Am I a hot lounge singer? Because in reality, I'm dead sexy."

"Shallow!"

"Oh, c'mon."

"Why is this so important?" Brittany asked.

"It's not." Brittany didn't believe her for one second. The 'hm' spoke volumes. "Okay, obviously, it's important. Can we leave it at, I want to see who I'm talking to and not have to analyze it any further?"

"Okay, how about this? Next time we talk, we'll do a picture exchange," Brittany suggested. She bit her lip and still couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Why next time?"

"I don't know," Brittany tucked the phone between her head and shoulder. "It'll give me something to look forward to. I know I'll be talking to you again this way."

"You would be talking to me again either way."

"Next time," Brittany said sternly.

"Okaay," the other woman pouted. "So, would now be a good time to tell you that I _may_ have _kind_ of cheated?"

Why this phrase made the bottom of Brittany's stomach drop out, she had no idea. "Cheated how?" she asked hesitantly.

"I went cruising for your Facebook yesterday."

"Oh," the blonde laughed. "And how did that go?"

"Completely unhelpful," Santana sounded annoyed. "You're a stickler for privacy settings, huh?"

"Safety first," Brittany said seriously. "And that _totally_ is cheating because I still don't even know your last name."

"Lopez," Santana answered without reservation. "All you had to do was ask."

"Santana Lopez," Brittany stated with flair.

"Santana Jennifer Lopez."

"Oh my God, are you for real?" the blonde squealed with delight.

"No, I'm just fucking with you because of the Britney Spears thing."

"Ha ha, Santana."

"I'm actually looking at what I assume is your cat right now."

"Lord Tubbington." Brittany automatically searched the room for the real thing. Tubbs was laid out on his back asleep, basking in the sunlight that was streaming through a nearby window.

The New Yorker laughed, "I was going to guess Duke of Meow Mixington."

"Shallow!"

"No!" Santana yelped in defense. "He's fat, that's the truth."

"He's big boned."

"Do you get his clothes custom made or shop in the toddler section?"

"That is his Christmas sweater and it was purchased at HolidayPetSweaters dot com."

"I can't decide right now if you're crazy or adorable," Santana said as her giggling faded.

"Let's go with adorable."

"Adorable then."

The reply was so soft and heartfelt that Brittany was lost in the thrill that traveled from her ears to her feet. So lost, in fact, that she missed Sam coming in. He was thumping her ear before she ever had a clue.

"Owww!" she screamed in shock.

"What?!" Santana's voice boomed through the speaker on her phone.

"Nothing," she replied as she punched Sam repeatedly on his arm. "Just Sam being a buttface."

He braced himself for the continuous blows while throwing light punches back. "Who's that?"

"None of your business," she hissed.

"I saw you smiling all dreamy like," he practically yelled.

"Shut up," she mouthed to him, eyes wide.

It was too late though, "Dreamy like?" Santana had heard it.

"He's being a jerk," she said into the phone and flipped off her best friend.

"Let me talk to your secret lover," Sam continued to bellow as he made grabs for the phone.

"Hey, can I call you back?" she asked Santana.

"Absolutely."

"K, thanks," was all Brittany got out before she hung up and went on another punching assault. "I can't believe you did that!"

"Hey, hey," Sam tried his best to deflect Brittany's fists of fury. "I was just messing around."

"She's never going to call me again!"

"Who are we even talking about?"

"_The_ girl, Sam," Brittany's fight left her body and let her forehead rest against her sofa.

"What _girl_?"

"No. _The_ girl."

"The wrong number girl?"

Brittany blew out a long breath and then said shyly, "Yeah."

"You're still talking to her?" Sam furrowed his brows, "But you said she was the bitchiest bitch to ever bitch."

"I did not."

"You did, too," Sam shot back. "You said if evil had a bitchier sister, it would be her."

"I didn't say that," Brittany waved him off.

"You said if you looked up bitch in the dictionary, it would be a picture of her son."

"My god, Sam, were you taking notes?"

"The last one I did write down, because I didn't get it at first."

"She's not a bitch," Brittany claimed. "I mean, she was, yeah. She was like the High Queen of Bitchington Alley when I accidently called, but she's not really like that."

Sam didn't look convinced. "Britt..."

"What?" she asked genuinely.

"You've been talking to her this whole time?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

Sam shoved over all Brittany's laundry and jumped over the back of the couch to sit next to her. "You don't even know her, Brittany."

"I'm _getting_ to know her," the blonde woman said defensively. "It's not a big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal," he pointed out. "You already have a thing for her and you've never even met her."

"I don't need to meet her."

"Have you even _seen_ her?"

"Nooo," Brittany trailed off.

"Brittany." Sam said it like that should say it all.

"Stop it, Sam."

"She could look like Gollum or something."

"She doesn't."

"You don't know that," he argued. He hopped off the couch and ran into his room. She heard him shuffling around for a few minutes before returning with an actual Gollum mask from three Halloweens ago pulled over his head. "Are you really going to tell me it wouldn't matter if she looked like this? Could you kiss this face?"

Brittany couldn't help laughing at his ridiculousness.

His voice raised several octaves, "Could you love me, my precious?"

"If she had a good enough body, then I'd probably still consider it," she remarked, totally unfazed.

He ripped off the mask and tossed it her, "Liar."

"It doesn't matter, Sam," she said as she chucked the mask on their coffee table. "She's smart and interesting and funny and _likes_ talking to me. So it doesn't matter."

"K," he shrugged and took his position next to her.

"Plus, she's in New York," she leaned into him. "So it _really_ doesn't matter."

"Hey," the guy said way too cheerily. "Why don't you hang out with me tonight?"

"Here?" she pulled away to look up at him.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm meeting up with Tory for drinks at the bar around the corner. Come with us."

"I don't want to feel like a third wheel."

"You won't be."

"Nah," Brittany tucked her legs under her. "I'm just going to stay here."

"You're going to call her back?"

"Maybe." She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands and then held them up. "What if I am?"

"I don't know, Britt," Sam ran his fingers through his mop of blond locks. "I trust your judgment, you know that."

"I know," she nodded.

"I just don't like the idea of you making yourself vulnerable."

"I dig the big brotherly type of vibe you've got going here, Sambo," Brittany smiled at him. "And I promise that if I ever feel like something is off or suspicious, I'll stop."

"And you'll tell me?"

Brittany rolled her eyes, "Sure."

Sam lightly slapped her knee in minor annoyance, "And you'll tell me?" he asked again.

"Of course."

Getting her roommate out her hair proved to be a more difficult task than she originally thought. It took several more reassurances on her part and the promise that Brittany would allow him to 'have a talk' with Santana soon. She agreed, but only because it was going to be hilarious when Sam tried to ask the New Yorker about his intentions with his best friend. She may have been leading a sheep to slaughter, but watching him shit his pants at the fury Santana would unleash on him would be worth his 2 weeks of pouting.

A few minutes after Sam walked out the door, she went in search for her phone. She had even spotted it when there was a knock. She ceased all movement. Maybe if she was quiet enough, they'd go away. Another knock and Lord T poked his head out from behind the couch. She held a finger up to her mouth. He cocked his head to the side. She narrowed her eyes. He took a furry step toward her. She pointed at him in warning. He jumped soundlessly onto the couch. She searched in vain around the apartment for where she had set down his big bag of kitty treats. He knew he had her. Moving wasn't an option and the kitty treats were on the counter, in the kitchen, twenty feet away. Tubbs spotted them, too. He looked at her, then at his crunchy shrimp bites, then back at her. She still wasn't moving, so he did what he had to and let out the biggest, whiniest meow he could.

"Britt?" came a muffled question through the door. It was Will. Her shoulders dropped.

"Coming," she yelled. On her way to the door, she grabbed the crunchy shrimp bites and threw them onto the top of the fridge. She shot Tubbs a glare before opening the door with, "Hey Will."

Will stood at the door in a t-shirt and jeans. One hand was cupped around the back of his neck and the other was clutching the handle of his guitar case. He had the same look of defeat that he had been wearing for months, but something was different. It was a more hopeful look of defeat. "She's gone," he said simply.

Brittany gave him a sad smile and motioned for him to come in. "You're wearing a different shirt."

Will looked down at himself as he passed. "I guess I am," he replied like he was more surprised than she was.

A few minutes later, they were both seated on the couch. Each had a beer and their feet propped on the table. The man shifted a little uncomfortably before saying, "I know you've been taking a lot of flack for me."

"Nah," Brittany said with a sip.

"You have and I appreciate it."

"We're friends." She stared at the bottle in her hand. "You're having a hard time, I understand."

"When the last of the fleet of U-Hauls pulled away with the 43 boxes of Guidance Counselor pamphlets," Will swallowed hard and blinked back the tears, "I felt a weight lift off my shoulders."

Brittany clutched his beerless hand.

"Emma's gone," he said as he stared at the wall in front of him. "There's no instant hand sanitizer or box of sterilized gloves on every surface. There's no 'How to wash your Hands' poster in all my bathrooms, the faint smell of Clorox isn't burning the hairs in my nose."

"Your house always smelled so fresh," Brittany recalled.

He nodded his confirmation, "When she finally left, though, I felt...free."

"Good."

"So much so," Will said as he grabbed for his guitar case. He placed it on the table and popped the hooks, "that I wrote something."

Brittany took the sheet music he offered her and looked it over. "You're working," she whispered with a smile. "Putting a dress on your great big mess," she read aloud from the sheet.

"I know it's not really fitting with the concept we discussed," the man said apologetically. "It's really just a kickstart."

"No," the blonde held up her hand. "I get it. Dressing up our Whoopsies, I totally get it."

"It will take some hammering out," Will gave her an encouraging smile. "I know Artie already has some solid designs-"

"I think Artie would be willing to work with us," Brittany cut him off. "And Sugar and Blaine love to play dress up."

Will took a deep breath. "Thanks Britt," he said with enough emotion to fill the divot of his butt chin.

She knew what he needed and as much as it pained her, she gave in. "We'll order a pizza and I'll call the team."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Santana hated monthly lunch meetings with Quinn. She hated them. She hated that Quinn always looked so put together. She hated that Quinn always had a new picture of Beth to show her. She hated the phrase, "I'll have to leave by 4 to get back in time to have dinner with Carl." She really didn't even know why they still did it. Well, yes, she did. They had always had monthly lunch meetings. No, that's not true. They had lunch everyday together for three years. Then, it became once a week when their 'status' changed from 'in a relationship,' to 'it's complicated,' and then back to just best friends. Facebook didn't have a 'best friends' option. That's how you know it's really over.

Before Santana had even caught her breath from the breakup, Quinn had married Carl Howell and had moved to Connecticut. Fucking Connecticut. She didn't even bat an eyelash at moving out of their city. Now, the lunches were monthly. Without fail, Santana sat across from Quinn in a booth at Vic's Diner once a month. She fucking hated it. Something was different today, though. After all of Santana and Quinn's tired history, after Carl, after Baby Beth, today was the first time she felt guilty about monthly lunch meetings.

Santana was lying at the foot of her bed, tucked into a fetal position and eyeing her cell. She had been toying with a thread on her sweater for at least fifteen minutes. She was procrastinating and she knew it. This was so stupid. She should not feel guilty. There's nothing to feel guilty about. Her and Quinn are so, so, soooo over. And her and Brittany are...? She couldn't even complete the sentence. Nothing? Interested? Pre-gaming? Talking with the option to date? No, there's no dating someone on the opposite coast. There's no 'just dropping by,' or 'let's grab a movie tonight, or 'hey meet me in twenty and I'll blow your mind.' Santana needed those things. She needed them to be options. She didn't even know if the other woman would consider it...or her. No, Brittany most certainly wasn't an option.

She really would appreciate it if her the niggling at her brain that said differently would just shut the fuck up already.

Santana eyed her phone again. She had been trying her best to keep it at arm's length. Not only because she liked calling that Washington number a little too much, but because now it held a picture of one Brittany S. Pierce. She had received it in a picture message a couple days ago. Immediately, she assigned the picture to Brittany's contact information. She then proceeded to stare at it for two days instead of calling. Santana was attracted to her. She was before, of course. She already loved her laugh and her sighs and her sleepy voice. Now, though, Santana knew about the blonde hair and the blue eyes and the whole fucking All-American girl-ness of it all.

"Don't be such a pussy," the brunette chided herself and pulled the phone toward her. She made quick work of getting to her call screen before pressing the home button. She waited for the ding. "Siri, call Brittany."

"Calling Brittany," Siri said back to her. Santana could swear that bitch was getting a kick out of her anxiousness. Even Santana's electronic devices had attitude problems.

"Hey, New York," she heard after a few rings. "I was just thinking about you."

"I'm a lesbian," Santana blurted.

"I like country music," Brittany replied in a heartbeat. "Wait, is this the confessions phone call? Did I just say that for no reason?"

"You already knew," the brunette eyes narrowed.

"Of course, I did."

"And you're cool with that?"

"If I wasn't, it would be pretty hypocritical," Brittany reasoned.

"Oh." Santana wasn't entirely surprised, but she suddenly wondered just where on the Kinsey scale Brittany fell. Not that it mattered because her brain was practically screaming, 'option!'

"Yeah," the West Coaster said like it was obvious all along. Maybe it was.

"Cool."

"Aren't you at work?" And just like that, most of Santana's apprehension was erased because it really was a non-issue.

"I was working a few minutes ago," she informed Brittany. "I was trimming down the guest list for Rachel and Finn's Hudson/Berry Last Day to Wear White Pre-Labor Day Celebrity Charity Golf Event's dinner session. Then Kurt had some crisis with Louboutin having sent a similar shoe to Kristen Stewart. Which she wore last night, so now, of course, Rachel can't wear them. And to top it off, the Golden Ticket has the third day chemical peel blues. She has a customary 48 hours before she'll let anyone see her. To her that equates to talking with anyone as well. So, I have to pass all messages to her via text. And I just had a really uncomfortable conversation as Rachel with one of her dads about his Irritable Bowel Syndrome."

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," the blonde said with a little hesitancy, "but everything about your life is weird."

"I'm not sure there's a right way to take that, but you're 100% correct," Santana dislodged from the ball she had wrapped herself up in and leaned over her phone. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting on," she paused for just a second, "Joe at Kinko's to make me 35 presentation packets." She then whispered, "I'm not sure if Joe is a man or a woman."

"And everything about _my_ life is weird?" After taking a few moments to enjoy the sound of Brittany's laugh, she spoke again, "Hey, there's something I want to tell you."

"Oh, another confession," she caught the mirth in Brittany voice and adored it. "Shoot."

"Okay," Santana leaned up on her elbows and rested her head in her hands. "I'm having lunch with my ex-girlfriend."

"Cool."

The brunette tried to analyze that answer, but there wasn't much to work with. "She's married."

Silence.

"To a dentist from Connecticut that looks like Uncle Jesse from Full House."

Silence.

"She has 1.5 children and teaches American History to dirty college kids."

"One point five?"

Santana was grateful for a response, "They recently got the kid a puppy."

"Puppies are cute," Brittany said.

"It's a Pomeranian."

"They got a puppy from the Middle East?" Brittany asked. "Sounds expensive."

While Santana knew she really should correct the misunderstanding, it was all too enticing to go along with it, "They're kind of pretentious."

"But why pretend?"

"Who knows," Santana replied. "I had a Beagle as a kid."

"Aww," Brittany said with a cute chuckle. "I had a diabetic gerbil."

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I don't know why. I mean, I loved her. Past tense," Santana rambled. "Well, I always will, but only because she was my best friend for a really long time. She was my girlfriend, too, but more importantly, she was my best friend. And, honestly, when she got married, I may have still loved her. Which is why the Olsen twins are huge rage triggers for me. But, now I don't. Love her, that is. Romantically. I still have rage when I see MK and/or Ashley, but it has nothing to do with Quinn. We just have lunch once a month. And I wanted you to know that that's what I'm doing today. That, and having a text conversation with Rachel's partners at Berry Fusion."

"Berry Fusion?"

"It's her production company. And yes, I know it sounds like a cheap body wash."

"Or a really delicious sports drink," the other woman offered. "So, you lost me somewhere in there. What was her name?"

Despite the backtracking, Santana knew exactly what she meant, "Quinn."

"It's nice that you can still be friends with Quinn," Brittany said. "I'm not really friends with my exes."

"Well, I'm not really friends with anyone...so I have to keep her around."

"We're friends," Brittany announced. "Aren't we?"

"Yeah, absolutely," it was punctuated by a sharp nod that the other woman couldn't see. Sentence completed. She and Brittany were friends. Friendly friends. "Of course, we're friends, Britt." She couldn't help the buzzing in the back of her brain that kept telling her it could be something more. But it couldn't. Not when the other person was across the country. Not when they barely knew each other, or about each other's lives, or friends, or families. Not when the girl seemed _this_ perfect, because there was always something. Always.

All of her doubts really didn't seem to minimize the possibilities, though. She thought about the possibilities nearly constantly now. She was still clouded by a 'possibilities haze' when she slid into the booth facing Quinn at Vic's.

"I ordered for you," Quinn told her without greeting.

"Thanks," Santana discarded the menu she had grabbed. "I met someone." What was with this blurting today?

"You met someone?" Her ex seemed a little shocked by that.

Santana immediately took offense to it, "Yeah, I meet people."

The corners of Quinn's mouth stretched her lips into a line in an attempt not to laugh. "Sure you do, Santana."

She opened her mouth to make a smart ass comment, but stopped. She didn't want to start off that way today. So many of these monthly lunches devolved into her being bitchy and Quinn being self-righteous. It didn't mean she didn't feel the need to prove something, though. "Her name is Brittany."

The other woman leaned in, her hazel eyes already questioning. "By all means, tell me all about this Brittany. What does she do?"

Santana sighed and picked up the menu again. She opened it and pretended to read. "She's in advertising."

"What agency?"

"New Directions," Santana answered without looking up.

"I've never heard of that one."

"Up and coming," the brunette blindly reached across to grab Quinn's water and take a drink.

"Her or the company?"

"Both."

"Where is she from?"

Damn. Santana froze. She had no fucking clue where Brittany was originally from. "West Coast," she replied with a squeak.

"California?"

"Washington."

"Seattle?"

Santana dropped the menu, "Jesus Christ, Quinn, do you want me to draw you a fucking map? Yes, Seattle. What the fuck does it matter?"

See, this is the point where most people would drop it. They'd shake it off and mark it down to Santana just being Santana. She's a bitch. She's awful sometimes. Not Quinn, though. Nope.

"How long has she lived in New York?"

"She doesn't."

"Jersey?"

Santana closed her eyes tightly. This wasn't going to end soon. "No."

"Philly?"

"No."

"Upstate?"

"She lives in Seattle, Quinn," Santana had finally had enough. "She lives there still."

"Oh," the blonde raised an eyebrow. "Was she in town on business then?"

"No."

"Did you meet her through Rachel?" Quinn asked. "Because all of her people are completely morally bankrupt. We've had this conversation a million times."

"Rachel didn't introduce me," Santana assured her.

"Kurt then?"

"I didn't meet her through Kurt. I didn't meet her at a party and she's not a hooker. Okay?"

"Well, I knew she wasn't a hooker," the married lady said. "You said she was in advertising."

"Let's drop it," the brunette nearly pleaded. Their usual waitress picked that time to deliver Santana's usual iced tea to their usual table. It was all so maddening.

Quinn stared right through her. "What's she like?"

"What part of drop it didn't you understand?"

The blonde tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're the one that brought her up...Brittany, you said? Brittany who?"

"Brittany, yes, her last name is Pierce. Brittany Pierce," Santana confirmed. "And she's...something."

"Something?" Quinn leaned back in the booth with a self-satisfied grin. "That's vague."

"Ambiguity is my super power," the publicist told her. She wanted to leave it at that. That would have driven Quinn nuts. She knew the lack of definites and the greys would get under the other woman's skin. Quinn hated blurred edges. But, for the first time in the longest time, something won out over bugging the living crap out of her ex-girlfriend. She wanted to talk about Brittany. She wanted to tell someone about this one in a million thing that had fallen into her lap. Santana looked Quinn in the eye, "She's awesome. She's hilarious and kind. She's quirky and...easy."

"You're such a slut," the blonde scoffed.

"No," Santana rolled her eyes, "Not that kind of easy. She's easy to talk to. She's open. I've never met anyone like her."

"That sounds incredibly cliche."

"Cliches are cliche for a reason, Quinn," Santana argued. "And also, I can be as slutty as I want to be, but I haven't slept with her."

"That's pretty shocking," the blonde said as their meals arrived.

"Again," Santana unrolled her silverware, "she lives in Seattle."

"I still don't understand," Quinn stated as she speared a tomato on her salad. "How'd you meet?"

"We haven't."

The blonde choked on said tomato and desperately took a swig of water to wash it down.

"Yeah," Santana smiled ruefully.

"Please tell me how this came about."

"It's a long story," the brunette shrugged.

Quinn glanced at her watch, "I have until four, spill it."

Santana did a quick shake of head, refusing.

"Okay, you led with, 'I met someone,'" Quinn pointed out. "And then went on about how wonderful she is-"

"There was no _going on_-"

"And now you _haven't _actually met her?"

"No."

"You said you'd never do online dating sites," the blonde reminded her.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Santana asked. "That's not what happened."

"Wha-, where did, how...huh?"

"Wrong number," Santana mumbled in between bites of french fry.

And then Quinn laughed. She laughed for a long time. More than the polite amount of time to laugh in public. It was a long enough laugh that people started to look in their direction. She quit twice, but started again when she caught Santana's horrified expression. "You're joking, right?"

"No."

"So, you," Quinn pointed with her butter knife, "Santana Lopez, just randomly called a girl and fell in love with her."

"First of all," the brunette's feathers were ruffled, "I didn't call anyone, she called me. Secondly, at no time did I say 'fall' or 'in' or 'love.'''

"What does she even look like, Santana?"

"She looks like a fucking troll, Quinn," the publicist shot sarcastically. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because you're incredibly shallow."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Santana asked loudly while looking at a woman seated a table over. The woman discreetly slid her chair further away.

"Oh, I don't know," Quinn chewed on a piece of bacon, "because it's true."

The brunette took a drink of her tea and set it back on the table. She internally debated telling the next part of the story. "We've been talking for about a month now. Not everyday, we're both pretty busy, but a few times a week."

"Okay," the other woman was intrigued.

"Of course, I was curious about what she looked like-"

"Because you're shallow."

"No," Santana argued. "Because I like her."

"Go on," Quinn was practically half way across the table by now.

"So we finally exchanged pictures a couple days ago."

"...And?"

"I..." Santana stopped. "This is embarrassing."

"That only makes me want to hear it more," Quinn was practically hanging on every word.

"Okay," the brunette began again, "I spent three days picking the right picture. Three whole days. I mean, I narrowed it down from 47. My hair had to have just the right amount of curl. My clothes had to cling in just the right places. I strategically avoided the six months I was obsessed with that hideous eye shadow that nobody told me was horrible. I even scanned the backgrounds with 400x microscope."

"All the important stuff."

"I did a fucking poll, Quinn," Santana confessed.

"Who answered the poll?"

"Kurt, Rachel, Bieste, Figgins," Santana really didn't seem to want to divulge anymore, but she relented, "and a homeless guy that grows pot under a bench in Central Park."

"Which one did you pick?"

"That one at your wedding. The one of the two of us outside, and I'm laughing because Carl got shit on by that bird. I look fantastic." The brunette was pleased and then added, "I cut you out, of course."

"Oh, yeah. That's a great picture."

"I know."

"Your hair did look amazing that day."

"I know."

"And red really is your color," Quinn complimented her choice further. Then added under her breath, "Even though you were supposed to be wearing creamsicle orange."

"All these things are true," Santana said. "And that was the ugliest fucking dress in the world. You couldn't have gotten me into that if I was chloroformed and rolled up the aisle on a Radio Flyer."

"So what does she look like?" The blonde was practically foaming at the mouth for this information.

"That's the thing," the publicist whined. "I spent all that time picking out a picture. I started as soon as she suggested the idea. And you know what she did? She waited until the picture exchange day and just snapped one right then and sent it. No big deal. I mean, she's wearing a hoodie and sitting on her bed. Lord Tubbington is chilling in her lap and she's drinking a Fresca."

"What's a Lord Tubbington?"

"The luckiest fucking cat in the contingent United States."

"Lemme see," Quinn held out her hand and wiggled her fingers with urgency. "I assume she's less than trollish?"

"She's fucking gorgeous," Santana pulled her phone out of pocket.

"Even in a hoodie?"

The brunette found the picture and smiled at Brittany's grin and bright blue eyes. She slid the phone across to Quinn. "Even in a hoodie."

"She's really pretty, Santana." The blonde stared for a few moments before saying, "You're in so much trouble."

"More true things."

Two things occurred to Santana that day at 4:00. One, watching Quinn leave didn't sting like it did before. And two, monthly lunch meetings were about to get much more tolerable.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It was definitely starting to get colder in Seattle. Brittany had spent most of the day freezing. She should be used to it by now. She'd been here most of her life, but something about this particular year and this particular season was chilling her to the bone. When she arrived home from work, she even made herself a cup of hot chocolate and put on her deerstalker hat. Nothing was warming her up. Sam had even asked her if she had painted herself blue again. For most, that's a strange question to be asked, but not for her.

"You sure you don't want to hit the town with me and the boys?" Sam offered while he was primping in front of the mirror. "You can dance circles around us while we drink ourselves into oblivion."

"As much as I love getting the twin discount at Doubles Dive, I don't think I'm in a dancing mood."

"Hey, if Doubles Debby offers us free drinks to do a Twinsie Striptease, we take them," the guy said seriously. "You promised you wouldn't sell us out."

"And I won't, Sammy," the woman smiled. "I love Doubles as much as the next fake twin set, but just not tonight."

"Okay," he relented. "How's _the_ girl?"

She did everything she could not to smile. She really did, but the mention of Santana made the blush blaze across her face every time.

"That good?" Sam asked with a playful punch to the shoulder. "Go Britt!"

"I don't want to jinx anything."

"That's just superstition, Brittany, you can tell me."

She shook her head, but still didn't shake the smile threatening to take over her face.

"I'm glad." He pulled her into a hug and tugged the flaps of her deerstalker. "Tell her I said hi."

"Okay."

She ate a quick dinner, she wasn't really that hungry. She pulled out her computer to look at some new designs Artie had emailed her, but she was distracted by thoughts of New York. She checked the clock what seemed like every 30 seconds. Santana's indefinite hours made it tough to predict when she would call. Actually, it made it difficult to predict whether she'd call at all. Brittany got the impression that Santana was completely at Rachel's disposal, no ifs, ands, or buts.

The call she had been anticipating all day finally came after she had sunk into her bed for the night. She had just pulled her blanket up around her neck and burrowed in. The fatigue she felt from the day lifted as soon as those notes from her ringtone hit the air. And now, Brittany's head rested against her phone, which was lying on her pillow. It was just the right angle to not only hear Santana's deliciously smoky voice, but also to see the picture of the same woman on her nightstand.

So, maybe she printed it off. And it's possible that she bought a frame to put it in. And so what if she drew a little heart on it with a purple marker. It's not weird. Sam learned that the hard way, like with a kick to his shin hard.

She stared at the woman on the phone just like she'd been doing for a week now. Brittany just wanted to touch her. That's all. Just once..possibly twice. She had almost booked an $800 dollar plane ticket to New York last night. It seemed like a great idea. She could fly in, meet Santana, hold her hand, memorize the texture of her hair, maybe find out if those lips were as kissable as she imagined, and then hop back on a plane and be back in time for work. She probably would have, too, if Sam hadn't reminded her that the 800 bucks was her rent money...and that it was certifiably insane. So, she had to settle for a long-distance phone call and a rousing game of twenty questions.

"My turn," Brittany declared. "Question number six: Do you believe in fate?"

"Not really," Santana answered. "Doesn't that make free will null and void?"

"So, you think things just happen all willy nilly like?"

"Willy nilly?" Santana laughed. "What in the hell is willy nilly?"

"I don't know, it's just willy nilly," Brittany said. "Crazy-like, wonky, rollercoastery. Pishposhery."

"Now, you're just making up words."

"So, sue me." Brittany adjusted her sheets again. "Answer."

"I think we're all in charge of our own destinies, Britt," Santana replied. "Why do you?"

"I think I like the idea of fate more than willy nilly-ness," the blonde said.

"I would hate to leave it all to pishposhery," Santana teased.

"I'm not sure you used my word correctly there."

"Prove that I didn't and we'll talk," the brunette egged her on.

"Fine..."

"So you believe in meant-to-be's?" Santana asked.

"Is that your question?"

"Nooo, that was fate-adjacent. This is still part of the discussion from your question. I'll announce my question."

"Geez, okay, bossy pants."

"So do you?" Santana repeated.

"Definitely," Brittany confirmed. "I think I was meant to switch 719 to 917."

"I'm so glad that you mixed up those two numbers, I really am," Santana said. "But honestly, you decided to text me the next day. If you wouldn't have done that, I would have just forgotten about it. Free will."

"Nah," Brittany argued with bravado. "You would have never forgotten the silky smooth tones of the chick that called you at 2 am and deemed you Bitchy McBitcherson."

"Probably not," Santana breathed. She cleared her throat and continued, "But you switched the numbers because your parents had just moved to Colorado. An act of their own free will."

"I switched the numbers because I was busy at work when my mom gave it to me and I wasn't listening. You're reaching, San," Brittany stated. "And you honestly think it's a coincidence that you and my parents have the exact same phone number with two numbers switched?"

"Yes, it's the definition of coincidence."

"Why can't you just admit it?"

Santana laughed lightly. "Because it's serendipitous nonsense."

"Are you making John Cusack references?" Brittany asked. "Wait, is that you standing outside my building with a boom box?"

"Is it playing a remixed version of Baby Got Back? If not, then it's another one of your many admirers."

"Hm, probably wasting their time then."

"Oh?" Santana choked a little on the word.

"I told you, I believe in meant-to-be's," the Seattle woman claimed happily.

"You mean to tell me if somebody was outside your window serenading you right now, you wouldn't give them a shot."

"Well," Brittany said slowly, making a show of thinking it over. "I'm pretty comfortable right now. I just got warm, _finally_, and I've got you keeping me company, so I think I'd pass."

Santana groaned, "You're too cute, Brittany S. Pierce. It's killing me, how cute you are."

"I know," the blonde shrugged. "Your question!"

"First time you got your heart broken?" the New Yorker asked.

"First or worst?"

"Make it a two-parter."

"Oh, easy," Brittany said without even thinking. "First was junior year of high school, I asked a girl to the prom and she turned me down. I was a sad panda for weeks afterward."

"What a bitch!" Santana hissed.

"Isn't that the coffeemaker calling the coffee black?" Brittany called her out.

Santana was getting really good at deciphering Brittany's unusual mix-ups. "I didn't say I wasn't a bitch. I'm saying that was bitchy of her."

"I agree."

"Okay, that was first, what's worst?" the other woman prompted.

"Same girl a couple years later."

"What happened?" Santana asked curiously.

"Uh, she dumped me," Brittany stumbled.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I want to say."

"I win!" Santana yelled victoriously. "You didn't answer."

"No, no," Brittany stopped her before the New Yorker broke into another chorus of We Are the Champions. "Dammit, I suck for making up that rule. It was the distance. We went to two separate colleges, she couldn't handle the distance."

"That's too bad," the other woman said softly.

"She was super hot, though."

"But not as hot as me, right?" the publicist asked.

"Not even close."

"Alright, Charmer, your question."

"Hm," Brittany's nose crinkled in thought, "Oh, oh, what's your moment?"

"What moment are we talking about?"

"You know, the moment," the blonde thought this should be obvious. "Your moment."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Brittany sighed, "You don't have a moment? When your life changed. The split second that you look back on and say, 'ohh. Yep, that's where it spun in a different direction.'"

"I don't think so," Santana hummed as she considered the question. "You can't really do that, though. It's all decisions and build ups and processes...nobody has one moment that changes their entire life."

"I do."

"You do?"

"I smell a victory, here, Santana Jennifer Lopez."

"Wait, okay. When Rachel finally got the call that she'd been cast in Glee," the brunette threw out desperately. "That's when my life started to change."

Brittany absorbed that for a few seconds, "But that's really Rachel's moment, isn't it?"

"It's both," Santana said, but sounded disappointed in her lack of a clear cut answer. "So, what's yours? Can I ask?"

"You can always ask me anything, San," Brittany said sincerely. "I was a sophomore in college. It was a Wednesday in a ballet class. I did a move that I had done a million times, except this time I heard a pop, my knee gave out, and my career was over. Game changer."

"Shit, Brittany," the other woman muttered. "I didn't know, I'm so, so, sorry."

"Of course you didn't know. Don't be sorry about that," Brittany said, forcing some life into her voice. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved to dance. It was my life. But, I then I realized that I started dancing to have fun, to let loose, to enjoy myself. And, well, then it became a chore. It was a job and it was stressful. I was working my body to the max and I was miserable. I think I was meant to get hurt, so I'd move on without always wondering what if."

"That's an incredibly positive outlook."

"Good things have happened since then, so it's easy to be positive now. I didn't always feel that way."

"Although, you could be in New York right now dancing in some Broadway show," Santana teased.

Brittany's entire being was abuzz with the simple statement. That would really be a game changer. What if she had moved to New York instead of back to Seattle? Would she be with Santana? Would they have even met? She couldn't help picturing herself wrapped up with the other woman instead here, cold, alone, and staring at a glossy 3 x 4.

"Well, thanks, Santana," Brittany said a minute later. "For the first time in years, I really regret that injury."

"Crap," Santana sighed. "I'm so sorry, that was completely insensitive."

"I'm kidding," Brittany smiled. "I do wish I was in New York right now, but it has nothing to do with dancing."

The blonde actually heard Santana swallow after that. She waited awhile in silence and thought she had said the wrong thing until the other woman started talking again.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

"Really? Are you seriously asking that question?" Brittany said in mock annoyance. "That's a terrible 20 Questions question."

"Why?"

"It's not open-ended."

"Sorry," Santana apologized. "You're welcome to tell me all about it."

"Sixteen."

The line was quiet for several seconds before Santana said, "I guess you're not going to, okay."

"It was...short and awkward." Brittany moved on quickly, "Worst date you've ever been on?"

"Oh, okay, let me set the stage. My first year at NYU, I was sitting in the library researching for a paper and I felt someone staring at me. You ever had that feeling?"

"Sure," Brittany answered.

"I turned around, right, and this girl is looking at me with this total 'come hither' expression."

"She was checking you out?" Brittany failed miserably at keeping the slight jealousy out of her voice.

"Yeah, she was totally checking me out."

"What happened?"

"I smiled at her, which she took as an invitation to come talk to me."

"Of course, she did." Brittany rolled her eyes. She didn't like this library girl at all.

"So, she asked me out. I said sure. We met up at a party and everything's fine until I realize this girl _keeps _staring at me. It was a 'jeepers creepers, lemme see those peepers' situation. It was X-Ray vision type shit. I wanted to put on more clothes the whole night, and that's never a good sign."

Brittany chuckled. "No, that's not usually the goal."

"She ended up being nice enough," Santana continued, "but I couldn't get into it. Besides the googly eyes, she was wearing this fedora that had to be previously owned by her grandfather. Then she took me to a coffeehouse, made me listen to slam poetry and snap. She kept insisting that I buy everything wholesale and asked if I wanted her to score me a Costco application. She wanted to take me home, so I purposely lost her on the subway and never went back to the library. I can't even remember her name."

"That's mean, Santana."

"Hey, it couldn't be helped," Santana defended herself. "It never would have worked out, she was a stare bear."

"Poor Eagle Eyes," Brittany pouted. "She was just appreciating you."

"Yeah, yeah, favorite childhood memory?"

"Well, my dad is a pastry chef, so I spent a lot of time watching him bake. I could never help, because I find recipes confusing, but I was excellent at getting him more sugar."

"That's adorable."

"He still pretends to not get enough sugar, so I can help." Brittany relayed. "Most embarrassing moment?"

"Oh hell," Santana grumbled. "In high school, when I was outed on public access television."

"What?" Brittany questioned. "That doesn't sound good."

"It wasn't," Santana replied easily. "The worst part was my abuela saw it and didn't speak to me for a long time."

"I'm sorry."

"She got over it eventually," Santana told her. "Our relationship was pretty strained for a while, but after Quinn and I broke up, she told me that there was a better girl out there. So, I know she's rooting for me."

"It's awesome that she was able to get past it," Brittany responded.

"What about you? Was your coming out traumatic?"

"Not at all," the blonde laughed. "My parents say that I was checking out girls from a very young age."

"A baby dyke, I like it."

"I was cruising for babes at 4," Brittany boasted. "By the time I actually came out, it was old news to them."

"Should I be intimidated by all your experience?"

"Probably," the blonde said.

"Aww," Santana yawned. "I'm tired, babe, I should probably go to sleep."

Brittany stiffened immediately and sat up in bed. She felt chills shoot down her body which was weird because she had never been hotter in her life. Finally, it hit her that she hadn't taken a breath and pulled much needed air into her lungs. She pressed the phone closer to listen for any sign of Santana adding anything else. She was met by a silence that scared her.

Rewind. Rewind. Rewind.

"Uh..."

Yep, she realized what she just said, too.

"I..."

Brittany licked her lips. Her heart was thumping. Her toes wiggled, half with apprehension and half with blissful excitement.

"Britt..." It was as unsure as Brittany had ever heard her. "Hey..."

"I've never wanted a time machine more than I do right now," the blonde said in little more than a whisper.

"I know, I'm sorry, that slipped out-"

"No!" Brittany exclaimed. "I would go back and relive that over and over again."

The silence strung out across all the miles separating them. As far as it was, they were still tied together somehow. Just like that, in the space of a four letter, one syllable word, Brittany knew it was a matter of 'when' and not 'if.' It felt way too damn good to hear for her not to hear it on repeat.

"I know what my moment is," Santana said suddenly.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Right now," and Brittany could tell she was smiling into the words.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Santana reached over to turn off her alarm when she heard the screeching.

6:00. 3:00 in Seattle.

She had been lying awake since 4:47. That's when she woke up with an irrational need to know Brittany's favorite color. She was in the middle of a pretty hot dream about the blonde, actually. But, at 4:47, it's 1:47 in Seattle. It was automatic now. Lunch time for her meant Brittany was just getting to work. If she could get away from Rachel around 3:30 in the afternoon, she could catch her just after she'd eaten and before heading back into meetings. By nine her time, Britt was probably just walking through her door after making sure that crazy sounding Rhodes lady was safely in her own apartment. Watching the clock was second nature now. She had always checked her phone regularly, but now it was downright obsessive.

She may be obsessed. Yesterday, Kurt had burped and she'd nearly sprained an ankle thinking it was a text notification.

She had never understood before what it was like to crave someone. There wasn't one other person in her life that she wanted to know every single thing about. She was Santana Lopez, she didn't long to get to know anybody. People fell all over themselves getting to know her. Not that she had let that happen many times anyway. Brittany Pierce, though. Brittany Pierce was turning her inside out in all the very best fucking ways. She pulled up Brittany's pictures during her downtime. Yeah, pictures, now she had three. She kept Brittany's voicemails and listened to them whenever Rachel and Kurt went on fashion tangents. She thought about Brittany as she was eating, working, walking, and now sleeping.

At 6:00, she still wanted to know what Brittany's favorite color was. That's something you know about the important people in your life. You just know it. It's like Knowing People 101. She could call. She could. She knew she could. She could call and Brittany would answer in that super sleepy hushed voice with all the slurring and half words. Santana would say, "hi" and Brittany would say, "Saaannn, it's 3 ina morin, dontch know anthin bout phone equtte." And then Santana would ask and Brittany would tell her. That's all it would take. Just hearing her voice would satisfy this insane urge. But then, Brittany would insist on waking up and talking before Santana had to head to work. Then Britt probably couldn't go back to sleep. She'd be tired all day and just want to pass out when she got home. That might cut their conversation short tonight and that's just not acceptable.

Santana was waiting at their usual meeting spot when she spotted Kurt approaching with her coffee. She glanced quickly at her watch. 8:09. 5:09 in Seattle. See, it's automatic.

"Fuchsia," Santana said in greeting.

"Bronze," Kurt said back, handing off her latte.

"Your favorite color, right?" She asked seriously. "Fuchsia?"

He gave her a curious up and down, "Yeaah," came out slowly.

"I thought so," the woman replied before starting on their way to Rachel's apartment.

"Are you buying me a shirt?" Kurt asked. "Because if you are, I want to pick it out."

"No, Cinderella, I'm not buying you a shirt. I was just confirming that I know you. That we're friends."

"Is this some kind of trick?" Kurt regarded her carefully. "Because, just four months ago, you stated definitively that we were not friends as you maliciously chucked my brand new Hermes scarf, that I got on sale mind you, out a 10 story window."

"I warned you if you said 'brand new Hermes scarf on sale' one more time, I was going to strangle you with it," Santana said with an edge in her voice. "Personally, I think you got off easy."

"Whatever," Kurt swept his hair back in a move that he stole from a Kennedy. "Of course, we're friends, Santana. We have to be. Rachel would kill us if we didn't stick together."

"That's true."

"We rely on each other," Kurt said with just a hint of melody. "Uh huh."

"No, no, no," Santana knew this trick. "I'm not singing 'Islands in the Stream' with you, so just cut it out."

"You can't resist," the man said with a sway. He sang, "From one lover to another, uh huh."

"I told you last time was the _last time_, Kurt."

"How _is _your new lover by the way?"

Santana bit back a smile, "She's not my lover."

"Oh really?" Kurt teased. "You haven't hit redial yet? Didn't get her on your party line?"

"Those are the worst sexual innuendos I've ever heard," the woman said in disgust. "You could have said booty call. Perfectly good, if not overused. Hitting the pound key would have been creative. Star sixty-nine would have worked flawlessly there."

"Did you get her _num-berr_," he asked as suggestively as he could, considering he's Kurt.

"If you're asking about phone sex, no, too early for that."

"Too early?" he stopped abruptly. "Too early for you? Because I've seen you sleep with people you've known for under 20 minutes."

"That's about sex, Kurt," Santana told him. "_This_ is not _that_. I woke up this morning wondering what her favorite color is."

"Her favorite color," he said to himself. "Wow, I never took you for the sappy romantic."

"I'm not," Santana claimed. "I just...this girl...I don't.."

Kurt laughed and started down the street again. '"Whoa."

"Don't even," she warned him when she caught up.

"Why don't you just text her, Santana?"

"Not the same."

Minutes later in the master closet, Kurt still couldn't wrap his head around that. "It's not like it's a personal question?"

"No, but we have this thing," the woman motioned with her hands, "where we ask each other questions. Texting is cheating."

"Tell that to Finn," Rachel complained as she practically fell into the oversized closet.

Santana and Kurt shot each other looks across the room.

Rachel, in all of her hungover glory, noticed. "What?"

"Nothing," the designer said quickly. "Santana doesn't know Brittany's favorite color. It's keeping her up at night."

"Thanks!" Santana huffed.

"Why don't you just ask?" the movie star looked at her publicist like she was possibly the dumbest woman alive.

Santana held up one finger, "One night. It kept me up one night, and I haven't talked to her yet today."

"My favorite color is gold," Rachel told them, because it was Rachel.

"Really, Rach?" Santana mocked her. "Because it wasn't me who commissioned Crayola to make special edition Rachel Berry Gold crayons. And it wasn't my hand you bit down on while you were getting that gold star tattooed on your left butt cheek. And, I'm almost positive, I wasn't the one who had to find every Goldie Hawn movie ever made and watch them one after another while we ate Rold Gold pretzels and wore gold footie pajamas."

"That was Golden Tuesday 2010, Santana," Rachel bit. "And when you say it like that, it sounds crazy."

"When it sounds crazy, it probably is," Kurt offered from his place at the rotating shoe shelves.

Santana would have agreed with that. In fact, she was all ready to do just that when Mercedes came bounding into the master closet with a vengeance.

"Mercedes, my sassy black lawyer," Rachel glopped on that sugar sweet voice. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"You said it was an emergency."

Santana looked to Kurt again, who shrugged his shoulders in response. "What's the emergency, Rachel?" the publicist asked.

"She said there was some loophole in a contract and the distributors of Run Joey Run were backing out," Mercedes informed them. She lifted up the briefcase in her hand, "I searched through the documents, but I can't find any loophole."

"I may have exaggerated that a bit," Rachel said nonchalantly.

"What contract?" Santana looked to Mercedes. "I'm lost."

"There's no loophole, everything is okay," the celebrity said. "I just needed to get you here."

Mercedes' rigid posture relaxed, "What's going on?"

"I need to sue somebody."

"Dammit, Rachel," Santana groaned as she fell onto the master closet couch. "Is this about those fucking shoes? You can't sue Kristen Stewart for wearing a similar pair of shoes."

"Are you for real with this?" Mercedes asked her, getting worked up again. "You called me out here to sue Kristen Stewart over a pair of shoes?"

"Those shoes were made for me," Rachel screamed. She pointed to her designer furiously, "Kurt is my witness."

"No," Kurt said rifling through brown off-the-shoulder sweaters.

Mercedes took a deep breath. She seemed to pull the air down as she clenched a fist in front of her, "Dear God, gimme the strength to not kill. this. woman. Gimme the patience, Lord, to not slap her upside her dumbass head."

"Can I get an amen?" Kurt said from the skinny jeans aisle.

"Rachel Berry," the lawyer started as she situated herself in front of the star, "I have defended you all those times you claimed you were the lovechild of Barbra Streisand and Pavarotti and tried to legally change your name to Rachel Barbra Streisand Pavarotti. I've filed motions on behalf of Petey, your childhood parrot, when your parents wanted to put him down. And I," she paused and tilted in her skyward, "Lord forgive me," then stepped closer to the actress, "advised you to commit _perjury _when you got mixed up in that cult that thought your debut record had hidden messages in it. But I am not, under any circumstances, going to sue Kristen Stewart for wearing your shoes."

"Okay, okay," Rachel took a step back. "I just wanted ask. See if you thought we could sway a jury."

Mercedes turned on her heel to head out, "Oh, and one more thing," she eyed Rachel, "if you call me your sassy black lawyer one more time, I'm going to sue you myself."

The movie star immediately looked to Santana for backup.

"Oh no, don't look at me," Santana shook her head. "I told you the same thing about Spicy Latina Publicist."

"I kinda like Flaming Gay Stylist," Kurt said as he steamed Rachel's socks for the day.

At 3:28, 12:28 in Seattle, Santana was licking her lips nervously. Rachel had been giving Better Homes and Gardens a tour of her house for their Celebrity Designers edition while Santana and Kurt looked on. They had already done the interview and pictures, so both of them were pretty much in the clear. The superstar was now upstairs going on about some fabrics she had imported from India and turned into throw pillows.

Santana grabbed her phone, maybe she could get in a few minutes of chat time.

"Hey, pretty lady," made her heart double and almost burst out of her chest.

"Hey, you," Santana said two octaves above her normal tone. "Busy?"

"Not at this second."

"Yay," the brunette smiled. "Good day?"

"Better now."

"For me, too."

"Is he there?" Brittany asked. Shit. Santana had just remembered the promise she made last night. Brittany wanted to start "sharing people." Which in Brittany speak meant she thought it was time that they 'phone met' some of the people important to the other. Santana didn't really love the idea, but for Brittany...well, she'd do it. "You promised. I only want to say hi."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Is he there?"

"No."

"San."

"Yeah," Santana pouted. "He's here. Just a second."

The brunette covered the mic on her phone and looked over to her left where Kurt was already nearly jumping with glee. "She asked about me?"

"She wants to talk to you."

He reached for the phone and she slapped his hand away. "No, not yet," she said. "Here are the rules. 1. You do not embarrass me. 2. You do not ask her anything about her previous sexual experiences that you wouldn't ask your own father. 3. You do not embarrass me. 4. If she says something you don't understand, don't question it, it's because you're too stupid to understand it. 5. And I can't be more emphatic about this, _You do not embarrass me_."

"Way to take every ounce of fun out of it, Santana," Kurt complained as he accepted her phone. He shot her a quick smile and shouted, "BRITTANY!"

"Fuckin' hell," Santana rolled eyes. "You just violated three rules, Kurt."

The man ignored her and went on, "So Santana showed me your pictures and I just wanted to say 'holy high cheek bones, lady.' Where did you get them and are they available in my size?"

Brittany probably didn't have time to answer because as soon as Santana caught sight of Rachel coming toward them, she slapped her phone out of Kurt's hand onto a nearby chair. She sat down on it, pulling the gay man down with her, and put on a winning smile, "Rachel!"

"Who were you talking to?"

"Br-'

"Brad Pitt," Santana cut him off. "Angie's trying to steal our Kurt away again, Rach. Better get on that."

"I swear, that bitch thinks she can just have anything she wants," Rachel complained. She continued to do so around the corner.

"What was that?" Kurt asked.

"Oh yeah," Santana slugged him in the arm, "like you'd put Rachel on the phone with anyone you liked."

By the time the New Yorker dug her phone out of the chair cushions, Brittany had gone back to work. She had left the cutest message, though.

**Brittany**  
_Kurt sounds awesome. :) I must have lost him. :( I can't wait to talk to you. :) In six hours. :(_

At 8:45, Seattle time: 5:45, Santana had really believed she was going to get away. Brittany would be home by the time she got home. She'd hop in the shower, throw on some sweats, and be conversing with the most magical girl in the universe within the hour. There was no deviating from her plan. Nope. No way. Not a chance.

Then came Rachel Berry.

"It may be the only way I stay out of trouble," Rachel said slyly as Kurt handed her one of her many little black dresses.

"Or you could not go out at all," Santana suggested. "I like Option B."

"If Finn's out and I'm not, everyone is going to think I'm at home elbow deep in Rocky Road while he's having intercourse with all the slutty girls in the city under 25."

"Just so you know, everybody knows he's doing that whether you're out or not," the publicist informed her.

Rachel ignored the comment and just kept spinning while trying to get a good look at her ass. "Santana," she asked after the 12th twirl, "how do you get your butt to look like that?"

"I do ass-ercizes, Rachel," Santana said with annoyance. "How do you get your schnauz to look like that?"

By 12:16, 9:16 Pacific, the three of them were in some club that only catered to celebrities and trust fund babies. Sweaty bodies were already flinging around and it wasn't even late enough for the truly fucked up people to have shown yet.

"You should have a little fun," Kurt screamed over the crowd. "You're out, you might as well enjoy it."

"I was supposed to spend the night with Britt," she shouted back.

"She's not here, Santana," the man said.

"No shit, Kurt."

"You said spending the night," Kurt leaned in. "You're spending the night with your phone, she's 3000 miles away."

"2,859, actually," she said.

"Close enough," he shrugged.

Santana shook her head, "Not nearly close enough."

"Somebody's checking you out," the designer pointed with his chin.

Santana groaned, she didn't want to put up with any crap tonight. She turned to see who he was looking at and almost lost it, "Kurt, you asshole, that's a man and he's checking _you _out."

"I thought so, but I needed a second opinion," he said as he wagged his fingers at the guy.

At 2:12, 11:12 on the West Coast, Santana was seething. She had finally wrangled Rachel into her limo and Kurt away from his new friend, Unique, when Puck showed up snapping pictures left and right.

"Puckerman, you piece of shit, get the fuck out of here."

"I can be anywhere I wanna be, Lopez," the grungy photographer said as he snapped a few photos of Rachel, upside down, hanging her head off the seat of her town car.

"Holy Gross Moses," Kurt was aghast when he noticed Puck, "what are you wearing? Do you live in a boxcar?" He then proceeded to scratch himself frantically.

"What the fuck?" Puck asked Santana. "Is he high?"

"No," the brunette answered and pointed to Puckerman's attire. "He breaks out into hives around plaid flannel."

"That's the reason I can't be around Santana on Sundays," Kurt told him.

"Puck," Santana snapped at him several times, "I'm in a really bad mood, so why don't you put your camera away before I put it away in your ass."

"I already got what I needed anyway."

"And you still look like an idiot. Didn't I tell you to cut that damn shit streak off your head?"

"What?" he looked genuinely confused, because it's Puck. "No."

"Oh, yeah," she realized. "I told somebody else you needed to."

Santana almost laughed at her own personal hell when she got home and saw that it was 4:47. It was 1:47 in Seattle, and you don't call someone at 2 in the morning. You just don't. It's rude.

But she could. She knew she could. She could call and Brittany would answer. Before she could stop herself this time, she had dialed the number.

"He-o?"

Santana breathed easier, "Hey."

"Wokn late?"

She couldn't help but snort at Brittany's just-woke-up mumble. "Yeah."

"Misd you."

"Me, too."

"Goo day?"

"Not really."

"Sucks." That was clearer, she must be waking up a little.

"Hey Britt Britt," Santana said softly. "I have a question."

"K."

"Now it seems kinda stupid," the brunette suddenly felt self-conscious about calling the other woman to ask an inane question.

"Go head, ask."

"Uh, okay," Santana paused dramatically. "What's your favorite color?"

The other woman laughed. "That's it?"

"Yeah."

"I don't have a favorite color," Brittany informed her. "Picking favorites is mean to the other colors."

Santana smiled. Yep, she was talking to the most magical girl in the universe.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sunny mornings in Seattle aren't anything to take for granted. Way too many days, Brittany had to power walk through the rain. So, on this particular morning, she was taking it all in. It was getting pretty chilly, sure. It was late September. But, all in all, it was much more pleasant than it would be in a few short weeks. It was a nice morning. No, a great morning. Not even Terri, the forever complaining Starbucks barista, could bring her down today.

Brittany was nearly skipping as she maneuvered herself between bodies on her way to work. She had just drained the last of her iced coffee and was reaching for her headphones when she felt a vibration in her pocket.

Her morning had just gotten a million times better.

"And what do I owe this pleasure?" she answered.

"I took an early lunch," Santana said. "I wanted to catch you before you got busy."

"Oh, what's up?"

"Nothing," the New Yorker replied shyly. "Just...saying hi."

Brittany beamed, "Hi."

"And I wanted to apologize."

"For what?"

"I keep flaking out on you," Santana griped, "and it's not cool."

"I know you're busy with Rachel, San. That's your job."

"Yeah," the other woman said. "But I'd rather be with you...talking to you. I'd rather be talking to you."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Brittany said. "I have no doubt about it."

"Good," Santana was pleased. "How's your morning been?"

"Awesome," the blonde replied as she winked at an elderly man passing her on the street. "It's a great day in Seattle."

"No rain?"

"Not today."

"It does sound like a great day in Seattle then," Santana agreed. "So...I wanted to ask you something last night before Rachel kept me out babysitting."

"You want my lucky number now? Shoe size? Favorite Sesame Street character?" Brittany just couldn't let the favorite color thing go. It was too cute and every time it crossed her mind, she felt like she was floating on a cloud of marshmallow cream. "It's the Cookie Monster, by the way."

"Really?" Santana was surprised. "I would have pegged you for an Elmo girl."

"Nope," Brittany threw her empty cup into a trashcan outside her office building. "Lemme guess, you like Oscar?"

"'Cause I'm a bitch, I have to like the grouch?" the woman complained.

"Logical conclusion."

"Bad assumption," Santana said. "Actually, I'm with the Count all the way."

"Ah-ah-ah."

"Exactly."

"Counting is fun."

"You always get me sidetracked," Santana laughed.

"I'm sorry, what was it you wanted to know?" Brittany asked as she passed the elevator bank and headed toward the stairwell so she could prolong the conversation.

"I thought maybe...if...you want to...we could possibly ramp up our...interactions. Maybe."

The blonde stopped suddenly on the second set of stairs she had come to. "What do you mean?"

"We don't have to," Santana backtracked furiously. "It was just a suggestion, don't worry about it."

"No, really," Brittany had leaned against a rail. "What do you mean?"

"You know..."

Holy shit. Brittany didn't curse a lot, but holy shit. If Santana was thinking what she was thinking, and they were both thinking that together then...holy shit.

"...Face time."

"Huh?"

"Face time," Santana repeated.

"Oh." That _so_ wasn't what she was thinking. "Yeah, sure."

"You don't sound sure."

Brittany continued up the stairs, "No, that's a great idea. I mean, I've thought about it, but I never knew if you'd be into it. Plus, I don't know, just talking on the phone has been kind of..."

"Retro?"

"No," Brittany chuckled. "Romantic."

There was a long pause before Santana replied, "While I agree, I think technology has given us a gift and we'd be remiss not to use it."

"Okay," the Seattle woman agreed.

"That and I really, really want to see you move."

"You're such a flirt," Brittany accused her as she opened the door that lead into her floor.

"Guilty as charged."

Hours later, the ad exec was still thinking about what the night would bring. The promise of Santana, in color and in motion, was short circuiting her brain. Not to mention, they'd been talking throughout the day. There were a couple more super short phone calls and one ongoing text conversation since that morning. This was becoming something more than friends who exchange phone calls. She had known that, maybe all along, but the reality was really starting to settle in. It was happening. It was happening and she'd never even met Santana.

Movement out of the corner of her eye snapped her out of her daze and she focused back in on Blaine at the head of the table. He was talking, because his lips were moving, but she had no idea what the guy was saying. He held in one hand the packaging for Whoopsies and in the other, a pointer. He was pointing to a graph that she had seen a hundred times, but hadn't take the time to memorize yet. He was wearing his stupid checkered bowtie with those bright red pants. He always looked like he got dressed in the dark by a blind comedian.

If she really zeroed in maybe she could ignore that awful pinstriped shirt.

Blaine looked at her as he was sweeping across the group, "I believe we've got a lock on the market..."

That's all she caught because her phone lit up with another message.

**Santana**  
_I'm stuck in the master closet watching Rachel and Kurt reenact I Hope I Get It from A Chorus Line. I would pay someone to kill me._

**Brittany**  
_How much?_

"Britt..." Blaine said a little louder than the previous two times he had tried to get her attention. "Hey Brittany!"

"Huh, what?" she asked him, looking up from her phone. "Yeah, Blaine."

"What'd you think of my pitch?"

"I think it's great," she told him. "It's really...you're great...it's just a little..."

"Bor-ing," Sugar finished for Brittany as she continued to file her nails.

"That's not what I was going to say, no," the blonde said to the woman.

"Yeah," Sugar stopped and pointed to Blaine with her nail file. "You're boring."

"What?" Blaine scoffed in disbelief. "I'm informative, Sugar. Not boring."

"You don't think so?" Sugar asked. "I'll prove it to you." She grabbed a jelly doughnut that had been sitting on the conference table since the morning and rifled it at Artie.

The doughnut hit the man's arm, which was precariously balanced on the armrest on his wheelchair. His head bobbled before he recovered, eyes wide. "Is it my turn?" he asked the group.

"You put Artie to sleep, Blaine," the woman told him. "And this is a man who writes source code as a hobby."

"Can we not?" Artie begged her.

"I'm sure it's very fulfilling," Brittany assured him quietly.

"Oh, settle down," Sugar went back to her nails. "Quit pouting like I just threw a rock in the spokes of your wheelchair. I was just making a point."

"A bad one," Blaine argued as he took his seat. "I'm not boring. Artie was up all night playing World of Warcraft."

"Really, guys," Artie groaned.

Sugar took a deep breath, carefully set down her file and walked around to the other side of the large table. She pulled out a chair, sat down, and reached out to take the man's hand, "Blaine, I want you think back on all the people who ever said you were charismatic and charming. Those two people were your parents and they lied."

"Sugar!" Brittany warned.

"Too far?" the other woman looked surprised. "Asperger's."

"You can't continue to blame your self-diagnosed Asp.."

**Santana**  
_How much will it take?_

**Brittany**  
_How much do you have?_

**Santana**  
_Ha. Is that an offer?_

**Brittany**  
_Maaaaybe._

"...can't help it," Sugar slammed her hand on the table.

"Who else is going to do it then?" Blaine asked the group with a smugness that made Brittany think he was probably always picked last for kick ball on the playground. Well, that, and the fact that he doesn't like dirt, or grass, or playing, or any combination of the three.

"I can't," Sugar told them. "I could literally say anything at any time. I'm practically a time bomb of verbal assaults."

"Public speaking makes me queasy," Artie informed the group. "Plus, I'm in charge of the slides."

"What about Will?" Sugar asked hopefully.

"Wait, where is Will?" Blaine questioned Brittany.

"Divorce court."

"I thought that wasn't for weeks," Artie said.

Brittany shook her head. "That's real divorce court. This is mock divorce court. Emma wanted to do a run-through."

"Will's too unstable," Blaine said matter-of-factly. "That leaves me."

"When we get a crack at the Temper-Pedic account, I'm all for it," Sugar remarked. "But not for this.

"Okay," Brittany held up her hand to stop the oncoming pissing and moaning. "Sugar, stop picking on Blaine. He's still trying to learn our American customs."

"Huh?" Artie asked dumbly. He looked to Blaine, who was just as dumbfounded.

"You weren't adopted from Guadalajara?" Brittany was shocked.

"No."

"I thought it was Spanish for Land of Thick Eyebrows," the blonde reasoned. "And you're always eating bean burritos."

Blaine took a swipe at his brows before saying, "I'm from Van Nuys."

"Oh," the blonde said. "Go ahead then, Sugar. Blaine's just really lame."

Blaine sighed, "That's funny, Britt..."

**Santana**  
_U better act fast. There's other offers on the table._

**Brittany**  
_I don't think any other offers will be as good as mine._

**Santana**  
_I think I need to know the exact specifications of this offer._

**Brittany**  
_There are lots of special things about my offer...I'll even send you pictures of my offer later. ;)_

"...Blaine's crying like a cakeless fat kid and Brittany won't stop making squishy faces at her phone." Sugar complained.

The mischievous grin slowly slid off her face. "Sorry."

"Who ya texting, Brittany?" Blaine lifted in his seat to try and get a glimpse.

"That woman in New York?" Artie asked with a scowl. "Samantha?"

"Savannah," Sugar corrected incorrectly.

"Santana." Brittany slowly slid her phone forward across the desk. Just enough that her middle finger could still tap on it nervously.

"Britt," Artie rolled his wheelchair just a bit closer, "how much do you actually know about his woman?"

"I know a lot," Brittany assured him.

"Like?"

"You don't have to tell him anything," Sugar threw another jelly doughnut at him.

"Lots of stuff," she reiterated.

Artie dismissed that with a sullen nod, "See, Britt, you can't have a real relationship with som-"

"I know she hums Journey songs when she's nervous," Brittany cut him off. "I know her dad's a doctor, but not the rich kind. He's the kind that pulls Red Hots out of kids' noses on Valentine's Day. I know that she snores because she's fallen asleep on the phone with me eight times, even though she doesn't believe it. I know she was born in Brooklyn, but she spent most of her childhood in Jersey. She doesn't tell people that because it's nobody's fucking business that she used to kick it at the Shore. I know she used to stuff her bra with double rolls of Charmin-"

"Okay, Brit-"

"I know that she mumbles when she's embarrassed about something. I know that she clicks her tongue when she's excited. I know that she smacks her lips when she's thinking about sex-"

"Okay," Blaine said loudly. "We get it. I think Artie was just try-"

"I know she stutters when she's confused about something. I know she repeats herself when she's pissed off. I know she has four different laughs. And I know she would think you're a tool," she finished with a glare.

Sugar, who could barely contain her laughter, said, "And there you have it, Artie."

"I'm sorry, Britt," the man told her. "It's not any of my business."

"No, it's really not," Brittany shot back at him.

The room was drenched in tension until the door of the conference room flung open and in walked Holly Holliday in all her long-legged glory. "Hey bitches!"

"Hey Boss!" Blaine was inclined to stand and got his legs under him a bit until Holly pushed him back down by the top of his head. She then wiped her hand off on his shirt.

"Nice to see you, Holly," Artie smiled his big toothy grin.

"Blah, blah," Holly waved him off. She snapped in Brittany's direction, "Britt, baby, are we ready to go on the Whoopsies?"

"Everything's coming along," Brittany said and looked around to see everyone nodding their agreement.

"Adam," she looked at Artie. "You got all the tech stuff?"

"It's Artie."

Holly looked at him blankly.

"Yes," he finally answered.

"Sugar," Holly snapped at her now. "Are you doing whatever it is you do?"

"To the best of my ability."

"Righteous," Holly pumped her fist. "Where's Will? Last time I saw him he was in a curled up in a ball under my Lexus."

"Pre-divorce court," Brittany answered. "He's better now. He started wearing real pants again."

"Who's pitching?"

Blaine raised his hand, "I am."

"No," Holly told him. "Who's pitching?"

"Seriously, Holly, I am," Blaine insisted. "I've written the proposal and practiced it. We've got the whole thing down."

"No offense, Blaine," the woman said. "But no. You make stale bread look like Lollapalooza. In fact, I fell asleep twice just as you were telling me that."

"Toldja," Sugar snickered under her breath.

"But-"

"No," Holly refused. "Britt, you're doing it."

"What?" Brittany blurted. "No, no, no, no."

"Yep."

"Holly, I can't."

"You can," the bossier blonde said. She motioned for Brittany to stand up and placed her hands on Brittany's shoulders. "And you will."

"I'm not so sure."

"I'm totally sure," Holly told her. "And frankly that's all that matters."

Brittany was still in some kind of post-traumatic shock when Holly yelled back to them from the door, "Oh yeah, the Whoopsies people aren't flying in anymore, we're going to them."

If the previous news had made Brittany's heart stand still, then that news kickstarted the hell out of it. She tapped the screen on her phone where Santana had left a series of messages.

**Santana**  
_Can't wait to see your offer. :)_

_I bet it's a great offer._

_Britt..._

_You there?_

**Brittany**  
_Yeah, I'm here. And I'll be there in two weeks._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**Brittany**  
_There are lots of things special about my offer...I'll even send you pictures of my offer later. :)_

This woman simply could not be any cuter. There was no way. She had to be the cutest person ever born. Santana should make her a plaque or something, she needed something tangible to prove it.

Finally getting to talk to Brittany that afternoon had turned her day around. She had spent most nights the past week dealing with Rachel's special brand of crazy. So, needless to say, she was stressed to the max. When there was Brittany, though, there was a lightness in her step. There was a joy in her heart. She didn't even like joy. Not in any form. Not even people named Joy. Rachel had even asked this morning if there was something wrong with her face and stared at her for twenty minutes until Kurt explained that she was smiling.

She quickly typed out a response and hit send.

**Santana**  
_Can't wait to see your offer. :)_

"Your face is doing that thing again," Rachel announced just after she and Kurt had finished a very moving rendition of Seasons of Love. It was a performance that Santana had seen literally 525, 600 times.

"Shut up, I'm happy right now," Santana snapped. "I let you guys sing for an hour without calling the cops or making gagging noises. You both owe me."

"You're so dramatic sometimes," Rachel complained.

"Talk about the coffeemaker calling the coffee black," Santana rolled her eyes.

"Huh?" Kurt asked.

Santana just waved them off as she clicked through her phone to her Brittany pictures. There was the first one, Brittany in her gray University of Washington hoodie. Lord Tubbington, the lucky bastard, was still sitting in her lap. Sometimes, Santana thought if she stared long enough, maybe Brittany would actually drink the Fresca. But, no, it continued to hover chest high in her left hand, while her right arm stretched out of frame to take the self-pic.

She drug her finger across it and the second one popped up. Brittany, who had her arms draped over her little sister from behind, had her nose scrunched up like she was snarling at the camera. It wasn't exactly the best picture of Britt, but she had sent it one night after telling Santana all about how Jamie hated Colorado and called her daily to bitch. Santana had replied, "If I was with you for that long and then somebody made me move to Colorado, I'd be pissed, too." Brittany had laughed at that and confessed that it probably had way less to do with missing her sister and way more to do with missing that little punk ass of a boyfriend she left in Seattle.

One more drag across the screen and the third picture appeared. Ah, the third picture. Santana let out an audible sigh which Kurt snorted at. He'd witnessed this already.

"How is she?" Kurt asked as he fussed with Rachel's horde of fashionable cardigans.

"Amazing," Santana answered dreamily. The image in front of her originally contained Brittany and Sam. They had been attending the reception of Mike and Tina's, their friends and neighbors, recent wedding. Sam had his arm slung over Brittany's shoulders and they wore eerily similar drunken grins. Santana had made quick work of cropping Sam out, leaving the beautiful blonde. She was wearing a blue dress that showed off her assets pretty perfectly. Brittany had told her it was the first time in a while she'd be out dancing. Dancing. Brittany. Santana bit her lip at the thought of what they talked about earlier. "We're Face Timing tonight."

"Face Timing!" Kurt sounded scandalized. "Are you sure you're ready for that? Talk about a huge leap. You've only been talking on the phone for what? Two months now?"

"Fuck off," she said with the accompanying hand gesture. "Sixty-seven days."

"You're counting?"

"Yep." Santana set the third picture as the lock screen on her phone. She briefly wondered if that made her a creeper, but then decided she didn't give a damn. She then tapped her messages icon and wrote another quick text.

**Santana**  
_I bet it's a great offer._

If the offer was anything close to what she thought the offer might be, it would be an offer she couldn't refuse. Ever.

"You don't think your friend is just using you to get to me, do you?" Rachel asked as she used her floor to ceiling mirror to examine her pores from two inches away.

"I think that's about as likely as you shooting rainbows out of your ass on a rocket ride to the moon, egomaniac."

"Rachel, don't start," Kurt warned her.

"I'm just asking," Rachel turned to him. "This Brittany person just appeared out of thin air. She could be anybody."

"Rachel," Kurt said in warning again. He figured that if she didn't shut up, Santana would staple her lips together.

"It's okay, Kurt," Santana told the man. She looked over to the other woman, "She has absolutely no interest in you, what you do, or where you go. I promise."

"None?"

"Nope."

"Not at all?" Rachel was disappointed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. She thought you were Halle Berry," Santana said. "In fact, she might still think that."

"Is that why you won't share me?"

Santana shot a look to Kurt, who immediately put his hand over his mouth.

"What?" Santana asked her, playing dumb.

"I know all about the 'sharing people' thing," Rachel pouted.

"How?" the publicist asked slowly.

"I heard it through the grapevine."

Santana nodded in realization, "Or through the intricate Intercom system strategically placed to record and log all conversations on the premises."

"It could have been that," Rachel shrugged. "I just don't understand. Brittany has talked to Kurt. She's talked to Beiste. She's talked to Finn about his time on Dancing With the Stars, she's even talked to my kitchen staff."

"That was only for a minute," Santana pointed out.

"She traded lemon meringue pie recipes with Henderson Head Chef," Rachel squealed. "And hers was better. She even knew to use egg alternative."

"She's kinda perfect," Santana said with smirk. "She can't help it."

"I want to phone meet her!"

"Absolutely not."

Santana held her phone close to her chest. That wasn't going to happen. It was about then that she realized Brittany had yet to text her back. She looked at the device again and punched out a new message.

**Santana**  
_Britt..._

_You there?_

"I think she heard you all the way in Seattle," Santana glared at Rachel. "She's probably terrified now."

"I do have a pretty powerful vibrato," Rachel said.

"Being you must be exhausting," Santana told her with faux sympathy.

The sarcasm went right over her head as Rachel replied with a sincere, "It really is."

Kurt, like clockwork, launched into his very-put-upon-damsel-in-distress with a Southern drawl that looks like a lot like Rachel Berry impression. It never failed to make Santana crack up and her head was thrown back in laughter when her phone vibrated.

**Brittany**  
_Yeah, I'm here. And I'll be there in two weeks._

The laughed drained away and suddenly Santana was having one of those moments the lead character has in movies. The ones where time stops. She was immediately hyper aware of everything that her own body was doing. Like, for instance, her heart started to beat so hard that she thought it may just burst through her ribcage and flop onto the ground. Oh, and it felt like air became a really valuable commodity that was only sold in high-end stores. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. She held the phone away, tilted it, and pulled it back. The varying angles didn't change the message. She quickly scrolled up trying to figure out how this was happening. Did she miss something?

When she looked up, Kurt was eyeing her with concern.

"You okay?" the man asked.

"Come here," she motioned him over and handed him her phone. "Read this to me slowly."

He looked down and read the first line he saw, "Kurt is one ovary away from being my Aunt Frieda," his head snapped up. "Well, this was an elaborate way to land that joke."

"No, Freida Jr.," she pointed to the ground, "down, it's further down."

He tapped the screen a time or two and then looked up inquisitively. "I bet it tastes like salty melted caramel on top of vanilla ice cream?"

"All the way down, Kurt!" the woman practically yelled.

Rachel had attached herself to the project by this time, curious to see what the hell was happening.

He scrolled a bit further and his eyes bulged. "Two weeks?"

"What?" Rachel hedged herself closer. She finally got a look and informed Santana, "Oh there's more messages coming in."

Kurt read them aloud, "OMG. OMG. This must be what a stroke feels like. I'm coming. I'm coming. OMG. I'm coming."

The only viable thought in Santana's head, she verbalized. "Wanky."

Kurt was hopping. He was actually hopping. It looked like the bunny hop. He was hopping and still reading, "She's going to call you when she gets out of her meeting. She's coming in two weeks," he told her with a vigorous nod of his head.

"Fuck me sideways," Santana finally said after a minute.

Now doing a read-through of previous messages, the man said, "From the looks of it, you won't have to ask twice."

"Give me that," Santana grabbed her phone and checked for confirmation. It was true, Brittany was coming to New York.

"I'm so excited," Kurt was buzzing. "Where are you going to take her? Are you going to see the sites? You should show her everything! She's never been here, right?"

"Hold your fucking horses, Elton," Santana said. "We don't even know what she's coming for yet."

"Uh, does it matter?" he asked. "She's coming."

The publicist couldn't stop the smile that slowly spread over her face.

Thirty minutes later, Santana and Kurt sat facing each other at the bar in Rachel's gourmet kitchen. She had recently heard that the lemon meringue pie in the fridge was Brittany's recipe, so she had to try it.

Kurt had been listing all the places Santana just _had _to take Brittany since shortly after the first bite, "Bergdorfs, Bloomies, oh, the Square, she'll probably love the lights."

"She doesn't live on a fucking prairie, Kurt," Santana huffed. "I'm sure she's seen lights."

"But these are New York lights."

Santana grinned into her forkful of pie, "Brittany and New York, together at last."

"Your two favorite things."

"Truth," she mumbled.

She couldn't wait to talk to the blonde. If Santana was this excited, Brittany would be metaphorically jumping on Oprah's couch. It sure was taking a long time for her to call, though. Santana reached into her pocket for her phone. It wasn't there.

Kurt finished off his pie and gave her a curious look, "You look like someone just blew tuna in your face. Although, I'm not sure that's a bad thing for you."

"I don't like it any more than you enjoy mayo squirted in your hair," she said patting the surface of the table. "Have you seen my phone?"

They both seemed to become aware of the situation at the exact same time and darted off their chairs toward the master staircase.

"Rachel!" Kurt yelled in his squeaky ass voice. He tried his best to block Santana's progress up the stairs. "Rachel, save yourself!"

"Move Hummel!" Santana said with all the intimidation she could conjure. Which was a lot.

"Santana, don't," he said, barricading himself in front of her with every step. "Think of the children."

"What fucking children?"

"I have no idea," Kurt admitted. "It was the best I could come up with on such short notice."

One successful juke move, and Santana was past him. Unfortunately, Rachel's brand new assistant heard the commotion and came barreling down the stairs. Upon hearing Santana's calls for blood, the assistant wrapped her in a bear hug.

Kurt's eyes widened, "Do you have a death wish? Let her go, you silly bitch!"

"Marley," Santana said with a chilly calm, "I'm going to kill her either way. It's going to be slow and painful. Do you want to be the one I practice on?"

And just like that, she was free.

"Amateur," she scoffed at the newbie. She'd have to get braver if she was going to hang with this crowd.

Santana followed Rachel's annoying nasally tones right to the scene of the crime.

"I spent countless hours with a high school show choir to research the role. I really immersed myself in everything about it." When Santana appeared, Rachel didn't seem bothered in the slightest. "I admit I took over the whole production, but the kids were just so excited to be in the presence of a true celebrity."

"Gimmethephone gimmethephone giveittomenow!" Santana hissed.

"Okay, here's Santana," Rachel winked. "I can't wait to meet you in person, Brittany."

She handed over Santana's phone with a smile, "She's delightful."

As much as she wanted to talk to Britt, the publicist thought it was important to take the time to give Rachel a look that she hope conveyed, 'I hate you with the intensity of all the raging suns.' She growled a little before retracing her steps.

"Britt?" she asked when she finally held the phone to her ear. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," the blonde answered. "Rachel's so nice. I don't know why you say she's a crazy lunatic."

"We'll see if you're still singing that tune when you're options are change your number or throw your phone into Puget Sound."

"Or, hey, maybe I can throw it into the Hudson, because I'm coming to New York!" Brittany screeched the last few words.

All the anger drained away when Santana was reminded of that little fact, "I know."

"Are you excited?"

"You have no idea, Britt Britt."

"I'll only be there for a few days," Brittany told her. "It's a work trip."

"Oh," Santana deflated.

"But, I'll be there. And you'll be there," the blonde said. "We'll be there together."

"Stay with me," Santana said without thinking.

"Uh..."

"Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with me?" Santana moaned. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

"I have to make the pitch while I'm there...I'll be busy for a lot of the time," Brittany explained.

"Of course," Santana said lowly. "You're working, of course."

"But I'd love to stay with you."

"Really?" The inflection at the end of the word made Santana wince with embarrassment.

"Yeah, I want to see your world...meet your people," Brittany paused. "Spend time with you."

"You can see as much of my world as you want."

"I would like to see all of your world."

"And I would like for you to see it...my world."

Santana entered the kitchen where Kurt had resumed his place and finished off her piece of pie as well. "Hey Brittany," he yelled in her direction.

Brittany heard and laughed, "Tell him I said hi."

"She said hi."

"Tell her the pie is delicious," he said licking his fork.

"The pie's delicious," Santana relayed.

"I know," Brittany replied.

"I can't believe you'll be here in two weeks," Santana said taking her previous seat.

"Actually, it's more like 11 days."

"Even better."

"Should I bring anything special?"

Santana's mind raced with all the possibilities, but settled with, "Just you, Britt. That's all I want."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**11 Days until NYC**

Brittany didn't waste any time making it back to her apartment complex. She jogged through the lobby of her building and had nearly made the elevator when she heard Rory, the kid at the desk, call to her.

"Hey Britt, lovely day."

"Awesome day," she said as they elevator doors closed.

She rifled through her pockets for her gum and when the car opened on the sixth floor, she tossed the whole pack to little Wes Brody.

"Whoa, thanks Brittany!" the little boy said as he ran down the corridor.

"Butternut Squash!" April Rhodes greeted her.

Brittany deftly avoided the oncoming ass slap, grabbed the styrofoam cut in the drunk's hand, and chugged the whole damn thing.

"Hey, that was my passion fruit mango Afternoon Delight," April complained.

"It was delicious, now go make another one," Brittany told her as she led April into her apartment.

She had the key in the lock of her own apartment door when Mike and Tina opened theirs.

"Hey," Tina said. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah," Brittany smiled and pushed her door open. "Busy."

"Not too busy, I hope," Mike replied. He reached out his hand to do the usual hallway spin.

Brittany gave him a low five, "Love ya. See ya," and she shut herself in her apartment.

She threw down her keys and rushed over to the cabinet where she kept Lord Tubbington's afternoon meal. She had already served the Salmon Surprise when Tubby waddled in with a meow. He was pleased that Brittany had finally been trained to feed first, do anything else later.

"From Russia with Love," Sam said as Sean Connery from the couch. He pointed to the television.

Brittany stopped moving and checked out the screen. "We get channels from Russia? I never knew that."

"It's the movie," Sam told her.

"Oh," she was still a little confused, but she really didn't care. She had other things to do as she made a move toward her room. "That's great, Sam. I hope it's as good as BBC."

"You don't want to watch?"

"Not now. FaceTiming Santana. Going to New York," she called over her shoulder right before the door shut.

"Going where?" was Sam's muffled reply.

Brittany swiped her computer off her desk and carelessly fell onto her bed. Just a few clicks and there was Santana. No waiting.

"You're real," Brittany said as soon as she saw her.

Santana laughed and the blonde thought that her heart had stopped. She had heard that laugh so many times, but she had no idea that it was so beautiful to watch.

"So many times in the last couple months, I wondered if you were real," Brittany told her.

When the other woman had settled in a smile, she said, "I'm very real, Britt. And you're even more beautiful than in your pictures."

Brittany couldn't hide the deep blush that floated across her cheeks, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Make me all giggly and stuff."

"It's true."

Brittany bit her lip, which made her grin a bit lopsided.

"You can't tell me not to compliment you and then look so fucking cute, Brittany."

"I'm sorry."

They stared at one another for long moments, smiling, then laughing at themselves, then smiling again.

"I can't believe you're going to be in New York in eleven days," Santana finally broke the silence.

"It was a surprise to me, too."

"Good surprise?"

Brittany nodded sharply, "Best surprise."

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot about staying with me earlier," Santana said seriously. "If that makes you uncomfortable or anythi-"

"No, no," Brittany interrupted. "I was hoping you would ask."

"I can't wait to have you here, eleven days feels like forever right now."

**10 Days until NYC**

"Tell Sam, I said hi," Santana said.

"Okay, sure."

"Britt, there's a mirror behind you," Santana pointed. "I can see him hovering in your doorway."

Soon enough, Sam had appeared just behind Brittany's shoulder. "Hi Santana."

"Hi Sam," Santana waved with her fingers. "Nice to see you."

"Nice to see you, too, finally," Sam said with a big-mouthed grin.

"So?" Santana leaned in a bit closer. "Are you going to give me some kind of 'talk' or something?"

"No!" Brittany shook her head.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure about Brittany staying _with _you," Sam talked over the blonde woman.

Brittany palmed his face and pushed him away, "Will you stop it?"

He appeared again after slapping her hand, "You're going to take care of her, right?"

Something in the vulnerability of the question and the way Santana's face softened from 'don't fuck with me' to 'I get where you're coming from' made Brittany take special notice.

"Her well-being will be my number one priority, Sam," the brunette answered. "I'll take good care of her."

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

**9 Days until NYC**

"What are you doing?" Santana asked.

Brittany was lying on her stomach, stretched across her couch, poking at the screen of her phone. "I'm poking your dimple."

"Which one?"

"Right."

"Nice," Santana turned her face a little. "I can almost feel it."

"Nine days."

"Nine days," the other woman sighed. "Uh, Britt Britt. Lord Tubbington is giving me that look again."

Tubby had taken up residence on Brittany's back and was watching Santana over her shoulder. He found her just as fascinating as Brittany did.

"He likes you," the blonde said.

"He looks like he wants to eat me."

"It's been over an hour since his last treat," Brittany told her. "He's probably considering it."

"Will he be okay while you're gone?"

"Sam will take care of him," Brittany replied.

"Okay," Santana said. "I just don't want him to be lonely."

Brittany was amused, "He'll be fine. I've left the two of them alone before. And I've already explained to Tubbs that he might have to share me."

"Is he okay with that?"

"He warming up to the idea."

**8 Days until NYC**

"Don't rain on my paraaaaaaaade," Rachel finished with a flourish.

Brittany, who had been watching from Santana's phone, gave her an enthusiastic clap.

"Don't encourage her," Santana said when she reappeared in the window.

"You're the one who said I had to suffer with you," Brittany reminded her. "I liked it."

"If she thinks you enjoy her performances, she'll never leave you alone."

"I'm not going to be rude, Santana."

"Brittany hates you," Santana told Rachel offscreen.

"I didn't say that, Rachel!"

"Brittany says to stop torturing me," she kept on.

"My turn!" Kurt said as replaced Rachel on the stage area of the master closet. "Make sure Brittany can see me."

"She'd rather soak her eyes in bleach," Santana told him.

When Santana's face came back into a view, she had a mischievous glint in her eye. She was smiling broadly, obviously amused with herself. When she noticed Brittany's pout, she stopped smiling. "What?" she asked.

"I'm mad at you," Brittany told her, "but you're still so hot.'

**One Week until NYC**

"Are you nervous about the pitch?" Santana asked.

They were both working, but they had started to leave their connection open nearly all the time now. Brittany's brows were furrowed as she poured over some market research.

"A little," Brittany answered with a glance to the screen.

"You shouldn't be, Britt," Santana encouraged her. "You have some great ideas. They'll love you."

"I hope so," she said distractedly.

"I can't imagine anybody not loving you."

Brittany's head shot up, but Santana had already gone back to whatever she had been working on.

She smiled knowingly, though, when she heard the unmistakable humming of Don't Stop Believin'.

**6 Days until NYC**

"Just under a week now," Brittany reminded Santana as she made her way back home after work.

"Are they adding hours to the day?" the other woman asked. "Because it feels like it."

"Is it a leap year?" Brittany searched her brain for the exact meaning of that term. "Don't they add stuff to leap years?"

"Yeah, but that was in February," Santana answered. "It's already been added, Britt."

"Oh crap, it's Matt," Brittany had just turned the corner onto her street when she saw him coming through the double doors of her building.

"Who's Matt?"

"Just this creepy guy who lived in my building. I thought he had moved, but he may be visiting April," Brittany filled her in. "Quick say something funny."

"Something funny."

"Yeah, ha. For real, so he'll think I'm too busy laughing to talk."

"Why don't you just say that?"

"Because it's mean, Santana," Brittany told her. "Make me laugh."

"You're putting me on the spot, Britt. I feel pressured. I can't deliver under pressure. Okay, okay, you want a joke? Maybe a cynical observation? I have plenty of great stories about Rachel that might work. Kurt's love life is really good for a few laughs. A dirty limerick? Have I ever told you about my brief interest in shrubbery conservation?"

"Nevermind," Brittany told her. "Matt's gone. I got by with a wave."

"Oh."

"You really suck at that game."

"Maybe we should talk about this so next time you have a laughing emergency, I'll be better prepared."

**5 Days until NYC**

"Your eyes are so blue," Santana observed as the two of them lied in their respective beds in their respective cities. Brittany had decided that if they set their phones up against their extra pillows, it almost felt like they were together.

"Yours remind me of Whoppers," Brittany commented. "My favorite movie candy used to be Dots, but I'm pretty sure it's Whoppers now."

"We're a study in contrast."

"Is that a legal term?" Brittany asked.

"No, Britt," Santana smiled. "It just means we look totally different from each other."

Brittany's face lit up, "We're a double rainbow!"

**4 Days until NYC**

"Okay, is there anything in particular you want to see?"

"I probably won't have the time," Brittany answered.

"Yeah, I know, but if there was just one thing..."

"I can't think of anything," the blonde said without ever looking up from her work.

"Are you sure? I'm willing to take you to any touristy places you want to go," Santana offered. "And that's totally against my better judgment. I'm making exceptions for you."

"That's sweet, San." Brittany said.

"I'll even take you to the top of the Empire State Building," Santana laughed. "Worked for Tom Hanks."

Brittany finally stopped working and looked at the brunette. "Will it have the giant heart?"

Santana shook her head, "Probably not."

"Then, no," Brittany continued with her project.

**3 Days until NYC**

When Brittany's phone rang at 6:22 that evening, she knew she shouldn't take the call. She knew she shouldn't, but she also knew it was Santana. Santana tended to trump whatever good sense she had.

"Hey!" she said after she answered.

"Hey," Santana was squinting at the screen. "Are you still at work?"

"Yeah," Brittany waved her hand around behind her. "We're doing a run-through and Holly's been throwing tomatoes at us."

"Harsh words, huh?"

"No, she was literally throwing tomatoes at us." Brittany held up a garbage bag with a neck hole and red splatters. "She thinks it helps us be light on our feet and quick with the draw. We had to make a few adjustments and she had to make a run to Whole Foods. Organic tomatoes pack a better punch."

"Interesting motivational techniques."

Now it was Brittany's turn to lean in and squint at her phone screen, "Where are you?"

"I'm in Rachel's limo, she's doing some surprise guest thing at Sunshine Corazon's big Madison Square Garden finale concert."

"Why are you sitting in her limo?"

"Oh," Santana looked a bit sheepish. "Um, well, I've been trying to make sure my schedule is all clear when you'll be here. I had to make some phone calls."

"San, you don't have to do that," Brittany held up some of the diagrams in front of her, "I'll be working."

"I know," Santana shrugged. "But I want to be as available as I can be."

"Aww," Sugar said as she rolled into Britt in her chair. She craned her neck until she was in frame. "You're cute, Savannah."

"Santana," Brittany told her for the thirtieth time.

"Thanks, I guess," Santana took the compliment anyway. "Who are you?"

"Sugar Motta." She nudged Brittany hard, "You haven't told her about me?"

"Of course, I have," Brittany's eyes widened to signal Santana.

"Sure, she has," Santana backed her up. "Sugar. Motta. Coworker."

"Did you tell her about me?" Blaine asked as he leaned over the other side of the table. "Hi Santana."

The New Yorker took a good look. "You must be Blaine."

"Yeah," the man was pleased.

"Boring Bowtie Blaine," Santana nodded. "Brittany's mentioned you."

Brittany took a quick glance around to find Artie looking on curiously. She flashed her phone at him, "Santana, Artie. Artie, Santana."

Artie jutted his chin in acknowledgement.

"You must be the tool."

Artie looked to have wanted to defend himself, but never got the chance.

"Three days, Brittany!" Kurt shouted into the mic as he slid in next to Santana.

The blonde in Seattle laughed, "I know, right!"

"We can't wait," Kurt told her and then poked Santana's arm. "This one is counting the seconds."

"Shut up, Kurt," Santana punched him.

"Aww," Sugar said again.

"Which one is Santana?" Will asked pushing Sugar out of the way.

"The woman." Brittany thought that was obvious.

"Who's that?" Blaine tilted Brittany's screen ever so slightly so he could see the new arrival on the other end.

"Oh, that's Kurt," Brittany explained. "Kurt, this Blaine and Sugar and Will."

"Hi," Kurt said with a wave. "Nice to meet you."

"Who are we meeting?" Brittany heard as Rachel appeared on the other side of Santana. "Oh, hi Brittany."

"Hi Rachel," Brittany smiled.

"That looks like Rachel Berry," Blaine pointed out.

"Uh..."

"Oh my god, that _is _Rachel Berry," Sugar tapped the screen. "You didn't tell us you knew Rachel Berry."

"The actress slash singer?" Will was angling for a better view.

"Yes, it's me, Rachel Berry," she gloated. "How are you all?"

Brittany let out a frustrated breath, "Rachel, this is Sugar and Blaine and Will." She felt the presence of Artie rolling up behind her with the news that _the _Rachel Berry was now part of the equation. She hooked her thumb backward, "And Artie."

"Is that Brittany?" the group heard a voice without a face.

"Beiste says hello," Santana explained and turned her phone around to show the bodyguard waving like a maniac.

"Hi Shannon!" Brittany waved back.

"We can't wait to see you," Beiste gave her a lame thumbs up.

When the phone spun back around, they caught the tail end of Santana mumbling something about 'these fuckwads bogarting Brittany.'

"We're all excited about her first visit to New York," Rachel scolded Santana.

"I loved you in Glee," Artie yelled, practically gushing all over Rachel.

"Calm down, Artie," Brittany hissed.

"You were in a play with my brother once," Blaine said excitedly. "Well actually, you were the lead and he was the understudy to Dying Man #3. You were brilliant."

"I'm sure it was a great experience for him," Rachel smiled her big fake smile. "You should all come over for dinner at my place when you're in town."

"Fuckin' hell, Rach-" Brittany heard Santana say before she cut off the FaceTime. She rolled away from the group and could still hear Rachel going on about her 'obligation to meet adoring fans.'

After a moment, it was just Santana's voice. "So much for keeping that secret, huh?"

"I can't believe I didn't accidentally spill it earlier, to be honest," Brittany replied.

"It's okay," Santana assured her. "It's not a big deal. But it looks like we'll be getting the whole group together now."

"Hm," Brittany replied.

"I know."

"That's okay as long as we have some time to ourselves."

"I promise you, Britt," Santana said seriously. "You're not leaving New York until I get you to myself."

**2 Days until NYC**

"Do you think...maybe..." Santana took a deep breath, "we should set some ground rules?"

"Ground rules?"

"I just want you to be completely comfortable."

"Santana," Brittany flopped back onto her bed, taking her computer with her, "you're over thinking this."

"I don't think so."

"Okay," Brittany gave in. "What kind of rules are we talking about?"

"Well, you know..."

"Sex rules?"

Santana immediately licked her lips. She was so easy sometimes. "Not sex rules per se..."

"Then what?" Brittany was curious as to where this was going. "Do you have a side of the bed?"

"Left," Santana said quickly. "Unless you like the left."

"I just want to be next to you, I don't really care what side of you I'm on."

Santana scratched at her nose and let a moment pass. She was nervous and Brittany was just soaking in all the little nuances that came with the ability to actually see the other woman.

"I want to take you out."

"Out?"

"Out," Santana repeated. "Like a date."

"We've had a million phone dates," Brittany said. "And movie dates and coffee dates."

"I'm not sure it counts as a date when we're three time zones apart."

"Why not?"

Santana rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I want to take you out and do all the things you're supposed to do when you meet someone and like her and you want to spend every second with her."

"We can go out."

"I know, but, I don't want to get ahead of ourselves. We're already so far ahead of ourselves."

"I told you, you're over thinking this."

"I want to do it the right way."

"We're already doing it the right way," Brittany argued. "Our way. This is our way. I like our way."

"I like our way, too," Santana voice rose ever so slightly. "Just...let me take you out...on a real date...before anything else happens."

"We'll see," Brittany winked at the woman on her screen.

**1 Day until NYC!**

"So you'll fly into LaGuardia and then head to the hotel."

"Yep," Brittany answered. She was packing the last of her things while Santana was lying in her bed in New York. "Then I'll be in meetings for most of the day."

"Okay," Santana shifted higher on her pillow. "Are you sure you don't want me to pick you up from the airport?"

"Transportation is already arranged, plus the whole group will be with me."

"Yeah," Santana remembered. "And you'll let me know when you're done."

"As soon as humanly possible," Brittany smiled. She threw her favorite sweatshirt in her suitcase and walked over to the desk where her computer displayed Santana's face.

"I can come get you."

"I'll be fine."

"I'll send Figgins."

"I have your number, your address, Kurt's number, his address, and the number to the NYPD, Santana." Brittany held up her phone as proof. "I think I can manage to get to you."

"If you need anything, call me, okay."

"I will."

"You promise?"

Brittany shook her head at the cuteness of overly protective Santana. "I promise!"

"Okay." Santana looked reluctant to shut down the call even though she was yawning like crazy.

"Get some sleep," Brittany told her. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh wow," Santana choked a little. "Say it again."

Brittany didn't even try to force back the giddiness. "I'll see you tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Santana had been waiting for Kurt at their usual meeting place for the last half hour. She was pretty content watching the traffic of the city pass on this particular day. She had nowhere to rush off to. Something about watching the hustle and bustle calmed her, though. No other city did hustle and bustle quite like New York City, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Kurt spotted her easily and weaved his way through the crowd, "I thought you were taking the day off?"

"I am," she replied. She handed over a previously purchased cup of brew, "On me, today."

"Thanks," he said before giving her a once-over. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"What?"

"You look terrible. Are those track pants?"

"Limited edition."

"Your shirt's on backwards," he did a little swirly motion with his hand.

Santana looked down, "Oh, yeah, it is." She then proceeded to turn it around by pulling her arms back through the sleeves and twisting it the other way.

"Good lord, woman," he squealed. "Have you no shame?"

"Oh, settle down, Mary," she said as she put her arms back through the sweater. "I didn't take it off and whip it around." In the process a couple of well-dressed men walked by gawking, "But you'd like that, wouldn't ya?" she yelled at them until they scurried away.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she said. "I just needed to get out."

"It's 9 in the morning. You worked all day yesterday. You spend less than eight hours a night at your actual home," Kurt informed her needlessly. "I don't think that's the reason."

"I needed coffee," Santana said. She pointed in their usual direction, "I'll walk with you."

"So," Kurt followed and tried to lead her into conversation.

"So what?"

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"You can tell me."

"I'm not," she said as she fiddled with the lid to her coffee.

"You are!" Kurt laughed.

"I am," she agreed.

"You should be excited."

"I am excited," Santana claimed. She then added, "I'm nervously excited."

"You've been counting down the days for this."

"Yeah, I know." Santana turned the cup around in her hand. "It just hit me today."

"What?"

"Oh, I don't know, Kurt," Santana exaggeratedly shrugged. "A woman I barely know will be inhabiting my apartment for three days. Maybe she'll be crazy. Maybe she's planned this all along. Maybe she'll be some kind of kidney stealer and she'll leave me in ice bath with a note that says, 'Hey thanks for the kidney, San, smiley face, heart. Sorry I cost you millions of dollars in overages, but I _really _needed this kidney. XOXO.'"

"Have you told her how much you drank in college?" Kurt asked. "I doubt she'll want to risk it."

"Maybe I should drop that info," Santana thought out loud.

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Maybe you're scared Perfect Girl is not going to be so perfect."

"The odds are stacked against her."

"Or," Kurt ducked down to catch her eyes. "And I could be going out on a limb here, maybe, _just maybe_, you're scared that she _is _going to be perfect. Then what happens?"

Santana nodded slightly, "That's scarier than the kidney thing."

"You'll be fine," Kurt told her with conviction. "I know you and I know you wouldn't be doing this if you weren't sure about it."

"I'm glad you're so confident."

"You're just freaking out. When you see her, it'll all be worth it."

"Yeah," Santana replied as she took a long drink of her coffee.

"So, is she in the air? Winging her way to our wonderful metropolis?"

Santana checked her watch, "Not yet. She texted before she had to get in line for security. They should be leaving in about an hour."

"How long's the flight?"

"Six and a half," she sighed. "Then she has some meetings with her group to finalize everything for tomorrow's meeting with Whoopsies."

"Whoopsies?" Kurt asked.

"It's like a ShamWow meets a wet wipe."

"Sounds absorbent."

"Ten times the cleaning power," Santana recited. She knew that pitch better than most of Brittany's team by now. "At just a fraction of the cost."

When the two of them reached Rachel's building, Kurt seemed surprised that Santana was still following him. "What happened to preparing for Brittany's arrival?"

"That sounded like a great idea at first," the woman said. "Now, I'm thinking I'm going to need something to occupy my time. I bought new sheets, then I wondered if that was too presumptuous. So I ended up just washing my old ones twice and putting them back on my bed. After that, I spent 34 minutes on candle placement. Where do you put a candle if you want to say: I'm into you even though we've technically just met?"

Kurt scratched his temple, "A respectable distance away from any horizontal surface?"

As the two of them ascended the master staircase, Santana noticed that Rachel had already perched herself at the top of the stairs. "I thought you were taking the day off?"

"I am. I'm not here, you don't see me."

"You said you needed at least twelve hours to rid yourself of the stench of my theatricality."

"Our precious Santana is nervous about meeting Brittany later this evening," Kurt intervened as they all entered Rachel's giant closet.

"Why?" Rachel questioned. "She's great. So cute and bubbly. Much too good for you, but seems to like you anyway."

"You just described 99% of your fan base." Santana took her normal seat on the sofa, "I'm not counting the people who keep photoshopping your head onto Ray Romano's body or that guy who wanted you to be the main ingredient in Rachel Berry Vegetable Medley soup."

"I thought that was shepherd's pie?" Kurt commented.

"No, shepherd's pie guy was totally cute and bubbly, though. Remember the magazine cut-out letters were always punctuated with periods made of Rachel's eyes."

"Ahh," the memory came back to him. "I like some originality in my psychos."

"And that's why I pay Beiste so much money," Rachel relayed. "So why are you nervous?"

"Because it's a totally normal human emotion for this situation, Rachel," Santana told her. "Oh, I see the problem, you have such little experience with those."

"You're even crankier than usual, I don't like it."

"I don't like you."

"I don't like those track pants," Kurt said with even more disgust now that he was seeing them in artificial light.

"Lay off my pants, Lady," Santana shot back. "I'm dressing for comfort."

"This is what happens when you have several months of pent up sexual frustration," Rachel told her smartly.

"You should know," the publicist remarked. "I signed for a delivery a couple days ago and you have _gotz_ to tell the makers of the Deluxe Jackal to use more discreet packaging. The delivery kid could barely look at me."

"That wasn't mine," Rachel said expressionless.

"It had your name on it."

"Did not, it said Harmony Hudson," Rachel smiled in triumph. A second and half later, she realized her mistake, "Dammit!"

"So, Santana," Kurt drew her attention. "How long will Brittany be here again?"

"Something about that question makes me reluctant to tell you."

"I just know a certain monthly date that you've dutifully kept for years is going to coincide," Kurt mentioned while combing one of Rachel's wigs.

"Oh, I hate it when that happens," Rachel complained. "I thought the three of us had all synced up."

"Not that," Santana informed her. She turned back to Kurt, "I cancelled with Quinn."

Kurt's head nearly twisted around on his neck, dropping the wig and the lifelike bust of Rachel it rested on, "You did what?"

"I cancelled," Santana shrugged. "It's the only free day I'm going to have with Britt. What the fuck was I going to do? Have a sit down lunch at Vic's and introduce them? Hey, ex-girlfriend who broke my heart and ran off with a man, meet my potential new love interest that lives next door to Mars."

"Out with the old and in with the new, huh?"

"I want this to go well," Santana explained. "I'm not sure meeting Quinn would accomplish that goal."

"And what did Quinn have to say about it?" Rachel asked.

"She cried a thousand tears and begged me not to do it," Santana said seriously.

"Really?" Rachel squawked.

"No, but it makes me feel moderately better than what she really said, which was, 'Now I can pick up an extra Zumba session.'"

"So that's it, then?"

"Kurt, I know she was a part of our little rag tag group of collegiate misfits, but let's face it. That ship has sailed. And sank. And should only be accessed by lesbian divers enrolled in a course titled How to Have a Toxic Relationship."

"Well, congratulations," Kurt clapped. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Santana stood and took an overly dramatic bow. "Look at me, I'm growing."

Rachel snorted obnoxiously, "That and you're totally in love with Brittany."

"Shut your mouth, Berry."

"You are."

"Stop it."

"You love her, you want to marry her, and have a million transcontinental babies with her."

All things that would have been easier to argue if Santana didn't suspect that they were true. Instead she just stomped on the Rachel Berry bust that was still on the floor. "Whoops, sorry 'bout that," she said as she kicked the pieces of the sculptured likeness of Rachel's head at the woman herself.

Santana was still on edge several hours later, even after playing her all-time favorite game, Guess Who: Celebrity Mugshot Edition. So much so that when her text notification went off, she nearly came out of her skin.

**Brittany**  
_I'm here!_

"She's here," Santana told Kurt and Rachel. "I think it's safe to say shit just got real."

"Let's go get her!" Rachel jumped up and down.

"No," Santana told her. "She's got work stuff to do."

"Then we can get her?"

"No, there's no 'we' involved," Santana waved in between them. "There's only me."

Rachel pouted, "But I want to see Brittany, too."

"And you can...later," Santana said, "and from a distance."

"Fine," she whined. "I've already sent the whole group baskets full of fruit, vegan snacks, and printed invitations for dinner. I'll see her tomorrow, anyway."

Santana had to ball her fists to keep from swinging. "I could not be more thrilled that in your continuous fog of selfishness and narcissism, that you remembered that you invited a bunch of strangers to dinner."

"Fans are not strangers, Santana. They're friends with less money and no talent."

"I can't wait until you do something that excuses me for checking you into a mental health facility," the publicist said wistfully.

"Bitch."

"Lunatic."

"Slut."

"B Movie actress." Santana knew how to push all the right buttons, and she did it flawlessly.

"Yikes." Kurt picked up a pair of boots and took cover behind the mannequins just in case.

Honestly though, Rachel's glare really scared her as much as a hungry puppy in a meadow. She could trade barbs all day long. She may have, too, but her phone broke the tension.

"I'm here," Brittany said with a giggle.

"I know, I got your text." Santana giggled at Brittany's giggle.

"You still want me to stay with you?"

"Of course," Santana said brightly even though her stomach was in knots.

"No second thoughts?"

"Do you have two functioning kidneys?" Santana asked just for peace of mind.

"Uh, yeah," Brittany answered. "Why?"

"Nevermind."

"Okaaay," the blonde said suspiciously. "Hey, we're heading toward the hotel, so I'll call you later."

"I can't wait to see you." A truer statement, Santana had never uttered.

It was true. Yes. But, it certainly didn't mean she wasn't going out of her mind. She spent the next few hours doing the most relaxing thing she could think of, cutting the labels out of all Rachel's clothes.

When Kurt noticed the trail leading from turquoise button downs to yellow tank tops, he went into hysterics and ordered her home.

"I'm going," she conceded easily. She handed over his scissors. "I feel better now."

"Oh, great," he said while collecting the labels. "I'll just be here sewing all night, but I'm glad you feel better."

"Thanks, Kurt," she said. "I mean that, you know. Most of the time, I don't."

"Good luck," he offered. "Not that you'll need it."

Rachel, not willing to be outdone, cleared her throat loudly. "Love. Love is what's waiting for you out there. It's right there. All you have to do is grab it and hold on tight. Don't let it get away from you. For love is not only precious to our beloved, but is also the greatest gift we can give ourselves."

"Rachel, that is from your Lifetime movie Backstage Breakdown: The Cassandra July Story circa 2007," Santana called her out. "I ran those lines with you."

"It was poetic then and it fits your situation now. If you want me to come up with something original, you'll have to give me a day or two."

"I appreciate your attempt at sincerity," Santana said. "As fake as it was."

"Can I hug you?" Rachel asked taking a step toward her.

"Only if you can do so without touching me."

After an awkward air hug, Santana walked the dozen or so blocks back to her place. She couldn't help taking in the sights, something was making her nostalgic. So many times she had taken the city for granted. She should really appreciate it more, this place was magical. Even more so today, because Brittany was here, too.

Brittany.

She'd dreamed about this happening so many times. She'd run through every imaginable possibility for how she could get Brittany here. In the end, she didn't even have to scheme or drop hints or send an anonymous plane ticket, it all worked out perfectly. She just hoped the actual visit would go as smoothly.

Her phone rang literally seconds after she stepped into her apartment.

"Santana, I told you I could make it on my own," Brittany said. "I would have gotten a cab."

"Figgins will get you here faster," Santana replied. "The faster, the better."

"Thank you," Brittany laughed. "I'm on my way."

"Hey," Santana caught her before she hung up. "Rachel's not with you, is she?"

"Um, no, is she supposed to be?"

"No, no. I'm just checking."

The wait between the phone call and Brittany's arrival was excruciating. She paced. She replaced her old sheets with the new ones again. She moved the candle four times until she realized there's no way to keep a candle off a horizontal surface and then she cursed Kurt. After a few more minutes, she went to watch out her window for Figgins.

She gasped when she saw the car turn onto the street.

Stay cool. Stay cool, she told herself. Do not run out onto the street and tackle that woman.

Her phone vibrated in her hand.

**Brittany**  
_Outside. Buzz me in._

When the light knock came a few minutes later, Santana took several deep calming breaths. Those breaths could have doubled at Lamaze breathing. She hurried over to the door, gave herself a quick check, and dried her clammy hands on her track pants. Oh fuck, she was still wearing track pants. Too late now.

She opened the door and was met by the most beautiful sight she could imagine. Brittany had on a pair of jeans and her University of Washington hoodie. Her blonde hair was tied up tightly in a messy bun. She clutched a suitcase in her hand and was shoving her phone in her back pocket. She was smiling that megawatt smile that Santana had only seen in pictures.

"Holy shit, you're fucking gorgeous."

"Hi," the blonde said shyly.

"Hi." Santana could have sworn she felt it as Brittany's eyes swept over her from head to toe, then back up.

"I..." Brittany dropped the suitcase and took the two steps separating them.

Santana felt hands on her hips and a tug before she really registered what was happening. It was like slow motion. The smile was replaced by her tongue darting across to wet her lips. Her head was tilted ever so slightly. Santana enjoyed the view for as long as she could before her eyes closed and she reached blindly to grab fistfuls of Brittany's sweatshirt and pull her even closer. When Brittany's lips reached hers, all coherency was out the window.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Brittany was no stranger to first kisses. She had one at a school dance, a couple in the backseat of cars, more than she cared to remember in bars. Most of them were pretty forgettable. Brittany had also seen a million supposedly epic first kisses in movies. Honestly, she never thought that movie kisses did the public any good. In fact, they were dangerous and irresponsible. They were rehearsed and choreographed. Real first kisses were never like that. For example, when you really kissed someone for the first time, you never know which way the other person's going to go. It was probably a good thing that Santana was left-handed. Their heads totally went in the right direction.

Movie kisses almost always are just too people smushing their lips together like they're trying to fuse through saliva. Santana didn't kiss like that at all. Her lips parted just enough for Brittany's to connect like a puzzle. That's what it felt like, two pieces of the same puzzle. It wasn't too wet, but just wet enough that their lips slid against each other fluidly without having to hose off afterward.

Brittany didn't have any idea why her hands immediately went to Santana's hips. It wasn't like she planned it. She did however, make the conscious decision to trail them up Santana's sides and onto her face. That was nice. That way she could keep Santana's head steady as she brushed her tongue across her bottom lip. Santana seemed to enjoy it, too, because she sucked Brittany's tongue into her mouth and started to walk them backwards. Brittany wasn't going to argue. She'd go anywhere Santana wanted to take her.

It turned out that it wasn't that far. Santana's back hit pretty hard against a wall and Brittany couldn't do much more than hold on tighter. She didn't realize that she had also also slipped her leg between Santana's until the brunette moaned and tugged her sweatshirt even harder, pulling it up ever so slightly.

Santana's hands never did go flying everywhere. No. But she'll never forget the feel of Santana's nails scratching downward just under her belly button. How her fingers just barely dipped behind the button of her jeans before curling and grasping her belt buckle like it was the only thing keeping her from falling right off the face of the Earth. Or how Santana's other hand trailed across the hem of her sweatshirt, around her hip and down to her ass.

She'll always remember what it was like to feel those short, deep breaths that Santana couldn't hold back when she leisurely switched from sucking Brittany's lower lip to biting the top one. Her mind will never erase the feeling of Santana's heart pounding just under hers. Or the excitement of Santana's hips moving against her own, subtly. Rocking. Slowly.

She'll remember the sounds for the rest of her life. The staccato breathing. The low moans. The mumbled 'Britt.' The sound of mouths moving together in perfect rhythm. The pop of Santana's lips. The dull thud of their bodies bumping against the wall.

It was no fake movie kiss. It was the real thing. It was the perfect first kiss. It was the perfect moment. It was Brittany's moment. Every other experience was a kiddie carnival ferris wheel ride in comparison. Brittany and Santana's first kiss was a massive, upside down, three twists and an 80 foot drop rollercoaster adventure. She didn't even know if physics allowed that, but chemistry sure as hell did.

The problem was, watching too many movie first kisses makes everyone believe that they end in mind-blowing simultaneous orgasms or declarations of undying, never-ending love. That's what Brittany thought. So she was really confused when this one didn't end in either of those.

When Santana pulled back, Brittany went with her. She was absolutely content to keep kissing, possibly forever. So, at the very least, late December. Santana had let go of her belt, though, and the other hand went from her ass to her chest. The light push was just enough to halt Brittany's progress and she hung there for a second before opening her eyes.

All she saw were pouty lips that seemed to be making the words, "You must be Brittany."

"How'd you guess?"

Santana chuckled, "Hell of a hello, Britt."

"It was either that or pass out."

"You made the right choice."

"Yeah?" Brittany smiled at the approval, "I've wanted to do that for a really long time."

"Me, too."

The blonde leaned in just a little and whispered, "Then let's do it again."

Santana licked her lips and stared at Brittany's before she physically snapped out of it. She actually shook her head to clear the lusty cobwebs. "You want a tour?" she said louder than she intended. She stood to her full height again, no longer straddling Brittany's thigh.

"Uh," the blonde was taken by surprise. "Sure?"

Brittany watched the other woman fidget and couldn't help but think Santana looked really rattled. She was probably nervous. Brittany didn't know what nervous Santana looked like, though. Was it good nerves or bad nerves? She could read the tones of her voice so well, but it didn't help when Santana wasn't talking. She couldn't read Santana's body language yet at all. She was definitely on edge, though, so attacking her face may not have been the best introduction. Maybe she should have settled for a handshake or a high five.

Santana recovered a little bit and sort of awkwardly shuffled around her before she quickly pointed to the space they had just kissed through, "Kitchen."

The blonde turned to look and nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay."

"Over there is the living room." She hooked her thumb behind her, "Bathroom through that door." Then pointed to another open door, "My bedroom."

Brittany shifted on her feet to get a look in Santana's bedroom. "Nice. Bed looks comfy."

For some reason, that seemed to make Santana even more flustered because she rushed to point at a candle on the table, "New candle."

"Candles are cool," Brittany said.

"You think it's alright there?"

"The candle?" the blonde asked giving it another look. "Looks okay."

"Good solid placement," Santana said definitively.

"Excellent place for a candle," Brittany smiled. She took another look around, "This is great, San."

"I like it."

"What's not to like?" Brittany asked doing another sweep of Santana's body.

Santana responded by pointing to the still wide open. Brittany's belongings were half hanging out in the hallway, so she walked over and grabbed the suitcase, and closed the door. She sauntered back to Brittany slowly and handed the bag over. "Your stuff, you're probably going to need it. Clothes. You should wear some."

Brittany looked down quickly knowing that she had a tendency to lose hers at the most inopportune times. Not that this was inopportune, because boom chicka wow wow, but there were indeed clothes on her body. Upon insuring that she was covered, she took her suitcase. She set the bag down next to the wall they'd just made out against. This wall already had a special place in her heart and she rewarded it a gentle pat in thanks for...being there.

"Sooo, you want something to drink?" Santana asked as she headed to the fridge. She leaned down to check out the contents. "I have water, some beer, V8, Dr. Pepper, apple juice boxes, Fresca, Gatorade, green tea," she peered over the refrigerator door, "I bought everything you've ever mentioned drinking."

"Beer," Brittany told her. "Definitely."

"K," Santana grabbed a couple beers out and twisted off the caps. She handed one to Brittany before taking a healthy swig of her own. "You wanna sit?"

"Yeah, sure."

Santana led them over to the couch she rarely had time to sit on. She plopped down first and watched Brittany slowly lower herself onto the furniture. "How was your flight?"

"Great!" The blonde grinned widely. Too widely. She knew it, because Santana looked suspicious at first.

"So...no turbulence?"

"A little," Brittany replied. "Wasn't bad, though."

"That is great."

"Yeah," Brittany answered, eyes darting around. She took another drink and picked at the label on the bottle.

"You okay?" Santana asked. "Hot? Cold? Hungry? Thirsty?"

Brittany held up the drink in her hand, "I'm good for now."

"Oh, yeah."

Santana awkwardly scratched the back of her neck. "TV?"

"If you want."

"Yeah," Santana said as she reached over to the table and pulled off the remote. "Preference?"

"Uh...no."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

Santana flicked on the television and stared at it. Brittany drained her beer.

"Another?" the brunette pointed toward the empty bottle.

Brittany handed it over, "Please."

"K," Santana walked back into the kitchen, grabbed another drink, then returned. "Here," she said with a smile. She resumed her position a safe distance from the other woman.

"Thanks."

"How did your meeting go?"

"Huh?" Brittany's racing mind was befuddled by Santana saying more than one word.

"Your meeting, how did it go?"

"Oh, it was fine," Brittany answered. "We're ready for tomorrow."

"You'll be great."

The blonde smiled with gratitude, "Thanks. I hope so."

"No doubt. You can run your pitch by me later if you want."

"I might," Brittany said. "I packed some cherry tomatoes just in case."

"Cool."

Brittany took a drink from the new beer and noticed Santana's attire. "Nice track pants."

The comment elicited a groan, "Yeah, I'm wearing fucking track pants. I forgot to change. Believe me when I say, I heard about it all day. I was dressed for comfort, dammit."

"Comfort looks good on you," Brittany said with a wink.

Santana's face scrunched like she wasn't quite sure how to respond. Instead, she shifted a few times, drank three consecutive drinks, and started humming what Brittany thought was Faithfully.

Okay, now Journey songs, Brittany could totally decipher. She turned on the couch to face her. "Good nerves."

"What?" Santana's head snapped in her direction.

"You're jumpy," the blonde pointed with her beer. "But it's good nerves."

"Oh," Santana smiled. "Yeah, of course, it is."

"That was too much right?" Brittany asked motioning back toward the door. "Going at you lips first?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

Santana mirrored Brittany's position on the sofa. "Don't be sorry."

"I don't even know why I did that," the blonde said sheepishly.

"Stop," Santana held up her hand. "It was..."

"Perfect," Brittany breathed.

"Yeah," the brunette agreed emphatically. "It was."

"I'm a pretty great kisser," Brittany gloated.

Santana chuckled, "And so humble about it."

"You are, too. We should team up again soon."

"Yeah, we should. I do...want to...do...that again, like you suggested," Santana said. "Which was a great suggestion, by the way. A capital idea. Sheer genius. But, I'm afraid...that's going to...lead to...other sexy things and..."

"And?" Brittany couldn't see how that was a bad thing.

"The rules."

"Rules?" Brittany looked in confusion until it hit her. "Oh, the date."

"The date," Santana confirmed.

Brittany scratched her eyebrow, "You're firm on that? Because I'm not one of those girls who needs you to buy me shrimp first."

"Yeah," Santana answered sounding way less than firm.

"I'm for doing the sexy things. Are we voting? I can probably whip up a campaign ad."

Santana swallowed hard, "No voting. Date. Sexy things. In that order."

"You're not budging on this?"

"Nope."

"Well," Brittany picked up her beer and polished off that one too, "that's just crazy."

"It's not," Santana argued. "Listen, Britt. I don't want this to turn into a three day bangfest, a crazy sex riot." Her eyes trailed over the other woman, "A naked Wonderland three day pass. I mean, I do, because _dear god_ woman, you're amazingly hot."

"Scissor Mountain," Brittany said with a dreamy look in her eye.

"Huh?"

"Oh," the blonde's eyes widened. "I was imagining the naked Wonderland."

"That's good," Santana said in thought.

"Okay," Brittany moved toward her.

"No!" Santana shook her head. "No, I don't want to do that and then go our separate ways again without ever really talking. I want us to get to know each other...in person."

"We know each other," Brittany said with all the confidence in the world.

"This means something to me, you mean something to me. That doesn't happen, ever."

"Santana, I already know that. That's why I'm here."

"Okay," the brunette said. "So, date. Then, sexy things."

"If I don't get a vote, I guess so," Brittany pouted. "But, can we just make out a little?"

"Briiiitt," the brunette whined.

"I came a really long way."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at the adorable little pout Brittany had her face. Damn. That pout was not going to be her friend, she could already tell. It was lethal. "This," she gestured to her blonde's face, "isn't fair."

"How?" Brittany asked, the picture of innocence.

"With the pouting and 'I came all the way from Seattle' stuff," the brunette warned.

"But I did."

"Yeah, but-"

"Yeah, but what?" Brittany cut her off. "You can't argue with that."

"Oh, I can argue with anything."

"Can you?" Brittany said as she hooked her hands under Santana's thighs and pulled her closer. She kept pulling until she had the brunette straddling her thighs again. Santana didn't exactly put up much of a fight. The position made the other woman a little taller, so Brittany rested her head against the back of the couch to look up at her. "Hi."

"Oh yeah," Santana said. "It worked the first time, so you're trying it again. I'm onto you, Brittany Pierce."

"You're totally onto me," Brittany said with a nod. She reached up and brushed Santana's hair back, "You're so beautiful...even in track pants."

Santana rolled her eyes and laughed, "You ruined the moment."

"No, I didn't," Brittany said before she leaned in and kissed her right dimple. "It's still a pretty great moment."

"Hmm," Santana sighed contentedly. She toyed with the drawstrings of Brittany's hoodie. "I like this shirt, it's the first thing I ever saw you in."

"Is it?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh yeah," Brittany remembered. "I went through about a million pictures and then just said, 'Screw it,' and took one before I chickened out."

Santana grinned, "Really?"

"That and Lord Tubbington really wanted to be in the picture. He thinks he's some kind of feline Elvis or something."

"Maybe that's because you dress him in glittery jumpsuits."

"He picked that out."

"How?" Santana didn't believe that for a second.

"Don't ask me, it just showed up at my door," Brittany answered. "Tubbs must know Sam's credit card number."

Santana bit her lip to keep from closing the distance to the blonde's mouth. "Could you be any fucking cuter?"

"Will that get me laid?"

Santana groaned and shifted herself back off Brittany and onto the couch. "We have to do things that aren't sexy."

"That's going to be difficult," the blonde said. "Have you seen you? You're sex in track pants."

And so, the two went on their quest to find things that were decidedly unsexy. Santana's first thought was cookies, which Brittany quickly vetoed.

"Is it the creamy middle?" Santana asked.

"It's the jars," Brittany replied.

The next thing that was decidedly unsexy: Rachel Berry.

Santana explained why, "She does this thing every morning called Rachel Berry's Excellent Ego-Building Exercises. The woman is already like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. One more compliment on a shitty movie and there's going to be polyurethane shrapnel everywhere. Thousands will be injured. Many will die."

"Shit," Brittany said seriously. "I better tell Artie that. He's been fanboying ever since he got the dinner invitation."

"Gross," Santana rolled her eyes. "We don't have to go to that, you know."

"No, I want to," the blonde replied. "You spend a lot of time there, I want to see the master closet."

"Actually, that's not available on the public tour."

"Oh..."

"I'm totally fucking with you," Santana smiled. "I'll show you the master closet."

Brittany was adamant that watching television would be completely unsexy, too. She even showed Santana the right way to do it. Which, of course, was fast forward through the show and only watch the commercials.

"You can pretty much figure out what happened by the actors either smiling or crying, right? Yes. And at the end of it, you have 20 extra minutes to play Angry Birds," Brittany said like a regular fucking Yoda.

By the end of the night, the blonde was stretched out across Santana's couch with her legs over the other woman's lap. Santana said she didn't trust herself to be in bed with her. So, they stayed put. Brittany really didn't care. She was perfectly content as she watched Santana inspect her knee surgery scar, brushing her fingers over it and then back. As painful as it was then, she was infinitely grateful for it when Santana placed a quick kiss along the dark line of puckered skin.

"All better now," Brittany said with a sleepy smile.

"Go to sleep, Britt Britt."

She did. And somewhere between wakefulness and sleepy town, she thought one thing was certain. Closing the gap never felt so good.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bad news: Santana woke up with half a pint of drool rolling down her chin. Good news: The _prettiest girl_ in the world was draped across her. Bad news: The fucking couch they slept on was killing her back. Good news: The prettiest girl _in the world_ was draped across her. Bad news: She couldn't feel her feet from lack of circulation because...Good news: The prettiest girl in the world was draped across _her_.

She thought about waking Brittany up. She had checked the time, but figured the blonde could sleep for another half hour or so. The day before had been a pretty long day for her. Plus, Brittany was so cute. Her blonde locks were all over the damn place because she had taken her hair down last night. Her hands were curled up right under her chin like she was attempting to ball up. Her mouth was hanging open slightly and her sweatshirt had twisted up just enough to show a sliver of her flat stomach. No, Brittany Pierce wasn't just cute, she was seriously fucking adorable. Serfuckadorbs.

Santana could have spent all morning watching her sleep. Her feet, however, had other ideas. She tried to put it off until they nearly declared mutiny, but finally she had to wiggle her toes to get the blood going. As soon as she wiggled, Brittany felt the movement and started to stir.

One blue eye popped open. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You stayed here with me?"

"Of course, I did." Santana couldn't help but light up. She loved sleepy, mumbly Brittany on the phone, but sleepy, mumbly Brittany in person was quite the sight.

"What?" she asked, smiling back.

"You."

"Me?" Brittany rubbed at her eyes to wake up a little more. "What did I do?"

"You're adorable."

"I probably look terrible," Brittany said as she sat up and tried to pat her wild hair down.

"You look great," Santana told her still grinning like a maniac.

"You're _so_ lying," the blonde shook her head and then stretched her long arms over her head.

"Your hair is a mess, you have a little eye crusty, there's a pillow indention on your face," Santana pointed out, "and you're still so fucking beautiful."

Brittany blushed ten shades of red before she could respond with, "You are charming in the morning, aren't you?"

"I try." Santana gave her nails a couple of puffs and scratched them on her shirt.

"It's working. Much better than asking about turbulence."

"Ha ha. Are you hungry?" the brunette asked as she maneuvered out from under Brittany's legs. "I'll make you breakfast. I'll even let you bring me sugar."

"Oh, if you make me breakfast, I'll bring all the sugar you can handle."

"Really? 'Cause I can handle loads of sugar."

As Santana tried to pass to head into the kitchen, Brittany grabbed her hand and gave it a quick pull. The movement stopped her and she turned around to find herself face to face with the blonde. Brittany's arms were on their way up and her head was darting down. Santana braced herself for Amazing Kiss #2 and let her eyes close.

And then Brittany hugged her.

Her eyes popped back open and she wrapped her arms around the blonde. Hugs were good. Hugs were cool. Brittany hugs were pretty great. The longer she stood there in the embrace, the more she melted. Brittany's hands trailed through her hair and then wound tightly around her shoulders. The blonde's nose bumped against her ear and then she heard, "I'm so glad I'm finally here with you."

"Me, too, Britt."

"Last night was awesome," Brittany pulled back and looked her in the eye. "I kinda thought I might be dreaming, but then I woke up and you're here. And I'm here. Even though-"

"Even though we did unsexy things?"

Brittany scoffed, "Santana, nothing is unsexy when you're around."

Their very first morning together was incredibly informative. She learned that Brittany sung Ke$ha songs in the shower. Brittany's toothbrush was green. She had a tiny pair of pink ballet shoes tattooed on her right shoulder circled by a scripted 'dance party!'. She packed her suitcase like a five year old would, everything just thrown in. But, the best thing, without a doubt, was that Brittany was a toucher. Without the constraints of the Unsexy Rules, Brittany liked to touch. She touched Santana every time she passed by. She brushed her hands over Santana's lower back when she brought her a towel. She rested her chin on Santana's shoulder as she flipped pancakes. She played with the ends of Santana's hair while she looked over her presentation one last time. She trailed her fingers down Santana's arm and linked their pinkies for a second as she answered a call from her sister. She kissed Santana on the forehead on her way out the door.

It was a damn good thing that they were going to fit this date in tonight.

After Brittany had left, Santana plopped down on the couch. Her apartment had somehow never felt more empty now that the blonde had been here and was gone. It was way too quiet without the buzz of conversation. It was way to somber without the sound of Brittany's laugh. When she heard a banging on her door, her initial thought was that Brittany had come back and she felt little zig zags of energy all over her body. Only Brittany could create that kind of energy.

When she opened the door, though, she was sorely disappointed.

"Hey, Ms. Lopez," Beiste stood there in all her gigantic glory. "Gotta do the sweep."

"Fine," Santana sighed and stepped aside. "But you know this is ridiculous, right? Nobody's going to hide out in my apartment on the off-chance Rachel might drop in."

"I take Ms. Berry's safety very seriously," Beiste told her, then called out in the hallway, "Adams, Nelson, let's go."

"Oh, great," Santana complained. "Those two?"

When the other two members of Rachel's Sweep Team filed past, Santana huffed, "Don't think I don't know it was one of you guys who took my lucky underwear last time. Stay out of my drawers, you sick fucks."

Twenty minutes later, the coast was clear and Rachel appeared in sunglasses and an obnoxiously large hat. "Good morning, Santana. I trust that you cooperated with my private investigators."

"As much as I trust that you've drank one Cosmo too many and now your brain is pickled in vodka and cranberry," Santana said. "Oh, and that hat makes you look like a fucking idiot."

"The hat was her idea," Kurt said as he slipped in behind Rachel. "I tried to tell her she can't get away with it if she's not attending a royal wedding."

"She couldn't get away with that hat if she was Carmen Sandiego herself."

"Alright, fine," Rachel dramatically took it off, "you both hate my hat."

"I hate the shoes, too," Santana added. "And your face."

Rachel ignored that and went on, "I came to make sure that you and Brittany were attending my little, intimate gathering this evening." She looked around curiously, "Where is she?"

"Prepping for her pitch," Santana answered. "And yes. I tried my best to talk her out of it, but unfortunately she's intrigued by celebrity trainwrecks."

"Yet another reason why I should have my reality show," Rachel claimed.

"No."

"Why not?"

Kurt touched Rachel's arm and said as gently as he could, "No innocent person should be subjected to that kind of depravity. It's wrong and in your heart, you know it."

"Bravo's heart knows it's wrong, too. They've turned you down four times," Santana reminded her. "So who is going to be present at your sideshow of a dinner?"

"The usual suspects, of course, and Brittany's friends," Rachel held her hand out. "Kurt, folder."

Kurt handed over a manila envelope, which Rachel opened and leafed through. "I went ahead and took the liberty of running some background checks."

"You're a freak," Santana said in exasperation.

"Let's see, Brittany S. Pierce, a few interesting things there, by the way-"

"Nuh uh," Santana held her hand up, not wanting to hear it. "Keep it to yourself."

"Blaine Anderson, William Schuester, Arthur Abrams, Holly Holliday, and then a Sugar Motta that we couldn't get anything on."

"Hmm," the publicist said with little interest at all. "I'm sure it's okay, Rach."

"You don't know anything?"

"About Sugar Motta?" Santana searched her memory. "No."

"Well, Beiste will be shadowing her all evening."

"Motta won't even suspect a thing," Santana said sarcastically.

Rachel eyed her, judging her sincerity. "You sure you don't know anything?"

Santana pointed to the door, "Get out."

"Fine," Rachel said with her usual snotty flair. "Kurt."

"Right behind you," Kurt told her and then hung back a little. He waited until Rachel had stomped away and asked the publicist, "So how'd it go?"

The corners of Santana's mouth lifted automatically, "She's amazing."

"See, told you it would be fine."

"It was."

"Anything _interesting_ happen?"

"Like what?"

"You know," Kurt leaned in, "_interesting_?"

"No, what are you talking about?" Santana asked, face blank.

"Did ya?" he then jutted his chin back and forth in the most awkward display Santana had ever witnessed.

"Are you asking if we made sweet, sweet lady love?"

"Yes," Kurt confirmed.

"Then why didn't you just say that?" Santana gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "No, I might have humped her a little while we were kissing, though."

"Might have?"

"I'm a little hazy on exact details," she said. "I opened the door, she kissed me, there were walls, and kissing, and...bumping...and grinding, and..."

"...okay," Kurt said as he watched Santana drift away.

"It's all coming back to me," Santana told him, still with a far away look in her eye.

"I'm going to leave you alone with that," the man said as he exited her apartment.

A few hours later, after nearly dying of boredom because she rarely had days with absolutely nothing to do, Brittany was flying through her door.

Santana stood to watch the blur of blonde and blue powersuit blaze across the room. Before she couldn't even greet her, Brittany and lifted her off the ground and kissed her. Santana's first thought was 'damn, Britt is strong, her second thought was, 'damn, this is nice.' It kept being nice, as Brittany's lips caressed hers, until she slid slowly down the other woman's body back to the floor.

"You keep doing that," Santana said after a moment to collect herself.

"Sneak attacks?" Brittany asked. "I don't think I can help it."

"I don't want you to."

"Then I won't," Brittany winked.

"So, it went well then?" Santana asked.

"Perfectly."

"That's great, Britt," the brunette said with excitement. Then a thought occurred to her, "If you get the account, does that mean you'll have to make more visits?"

"Most the work will be done in Seattle," Brittany informed her. "But yeah, we'll have to make a couple more trips out here."

"This is very good news." Santana laced her fingers through Brittany's and squeezed.

"Best ever," the blonde agreed.

"So, are you sure you want to go to Rachel's?"

"Everybody's really excited about it."

"Okay," Santana said uneasily. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Most of the time, Rachel's dinner parties sucked. Santana dreaded going to them, she hated being at them, and then she ducked out early claiming some minor physical ailment. This particular dinner party, though, Santana had Brittany on her arm. Big Pimpin' was rolling around in her head like a theme song as she walked into Rachel's Grand Dining Room. The record stopped with a ear wrenching scratch when she saw Finn fucking Hudson loitering around...with a date.

"Hey," she said to Brittany as they approached her coworkers from Seattle. "Can you give me just a sec?"

"Sure."

Santana gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed for Hudson.

The big dumb oaf was standing in the middle of room, Jets tie already askew. "Santana," he acknowledged.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away. "Don't you know we have guests? You think this is not going to get out?"

"Rachel said they were friends of friends."

"They are," the publicist told him, "all the more reason to keep the theatrics to a minimum."

"I understand what you're saying," Finn said. Santana really doubted that, the guy was dumb as a rock. "But, Suzy and I..." he motioned over to her a few steps away talking politely with the tool in the wheelchair, "we had a connection. For days before I ever asked her out, she was everywhere I looked. I took it as a sign."

"Oh, a sign. Oh, well, if that's the case, then okay," Santana smiled. "But hey, why don't you _sign_ some fucking divorce papers and make my life a whole lot easier."

"I care about my marriage, Santana," the dope replied seriously.

Before she could tell him that he was a stupid fucker, Rachel appeared. And lo and behold she was being trailed by some strange man.

"It's okay, it's okay," Rachel told her and then growled at Finn. "I brought a date, too. Meet Brody."

Brody held out his business card, which Santana took and read aloud, "Brody Weston: A Face for Pipes?"

"He's a celebrity plumber," Rachel said with a blinding smile. "He redid the third floor bath. I found him in the shower."

"Dandy," Santana said. "This is going to be fun."

"Oh." Something caught Rachel's eye. "Is that Brittany?"

Santana followed her eyes, "Yes."

Immediately, Rachel was off.

"Rachel!" Santana called.

At the same time, Kurt had entered the building and had seen the blonde as well. "Brittany!" he shouted above the din of the small crowd.

The two of them converged on the helpless girl at the same time, both hugging her with the kind of emotion that they did not usually possess.

"Let the woman go," Santana tried to pry them away.

"You're everything I thought you would be and so much more," Kurt squealed.

Rachel talked over him with, "I can't believe we're finally meeting!"

"Santana's been so excited about your visit," Kurt hugged a bit tighter.

Which was drowned out by Rachel's, "It's about time, Santana's been so hard to deal with. She's a real bitch when she's stressed."

Kurt leaned back and looked her over, "That's such a great dress on you."

"Do you like my dress?" Rachel asked at the same time.

Brittany seemed okay with it, though. In fact, she was smiling widely and hugging both of them back, answering the best she could. And as irritating as they were, Santana felt a little surge of happiness that Brittany was bonding with the other two most important people in her world. But, only a surge. When it was done, it was done.

"Okay, it's time to back the fuck off," she finally said.

Kurt did unhand Brittany, but Rachel, always pushing the limits too close to psychotic, held on until she was summoned by a young woman tapping her on the shoulder. The woman seemed pretty comfortable here, yet Santana had no idea who she was.

"Rachel?" She pointed to the woman, "Who's this?"

"Oh," Rachel clapped her hands together. "This is New Assistant Girl, Kelly."

"It's Kitty, actually," New Assistant Girl said.

"Not an improvement," Santana tossed to her. She looked back to Rachel, "I'm gone for one day and you've replaced Marley?"

"I could never find Marley, Santana," Rachel explained. "She could be standing right in front of me, and I didn't even see her. She's like the invisible girl."

"I just came to tell you that Ms. Jones is here," Kitty relayed to Rachel, "as you requested."

"Whatever you're going to do, don't!" Santana warned her.

"We're just having a lovely dinner," Rachel said innocently.

Soon enough, all the introductions had been made and they were all gathered around the table according to Rachel's pre-set placecards. Well, almost.

It didn't take long for Rachel to notice something was amiss, "No, no, no, Kurt. Brittany was supposed to be seated by me."

"Santana made me switch," Kurt told her.

"Santana has no authority when it comes to dinner placement."

Of course, the woman in question heard the exchange and leaned over Kurt, "There's no way in hell I'm letting you yap at my date all night."

Brittany heard, too. "Are we considering this the date?" she asked.

"Absolutely," Santana answered quickly.

"Then we should get it started," Brittany said. "And finished."

The publicist laughed, "I wish it could be that easy."

She took a look around at all the guests. This had the potential to be a very interesting night.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Brittany had never in her life seen anything even close to resembling Rachel Berry's New York City apartment. It was incredible. Every single thing was grander, more polished, and brighter. It was like Santa Claus and the Magical Band of Unicorns had teamed up to create the Headquarters of Happyville. If Brittany had to describe it, she'd say it was intensely sparkly. She was almost afraid to touch anything, even though Santana assured her that Rachel was insured to the max. Having that knowledge really didn't help much, though. She was still in awe of everything. Even Rachel's monogrammed napkins looked like they cost more than Brittany's whole outfit.

Brittany had greeted all of her coworkers from Seattle. They seemed as overwhelmed as she was. Well, everyone except Holly, who had brought a flask and was celebrating prematurely at the day's successful pitch. She was glad everyone seemed to be getting along so far. It gave her the opportunity to watch Santana. Brittany just couldn't get enough of Santana. And the way she had walked in here and took charge was making Brittany look even more forward to getting her back home.

They had finally all settled into their seats and were awaiting dinner, when Brittany noticed all Rachel's awards. One whole wall of the Grand Dining Room was a glass display case of various trophies. The trophies seemed to be accompanied by large framed photographs of Rachel accepting each award. In some photographs, she was laughing. In some, she was crying. In one, she was doing both in a face so contorted, she was barely recognizable. The best part, in Brittany's estimation at least, was the little glitter cannons that shot every few minutes, covering everything in gold. She watched in amazement until she felt Santana tap her elbow.

"You okay?" Santana asked her in ear.

"Yeah, fine," she said without taking her eyes off the display. "That's incredible."

"Don't look at that too long, babe, you'll have nightmares. That kind of demonstration in self-congratulation will eat at your soul."

Brittany's head whipped around to face Santana, "You called me 'babe' again."

"Yeah, I meant to that time."

"I like it."

"I like that you like it," Santana said as she drifted closer.

"So when will this be over?" Brittany asked as she massaged Santana's knee under the table. "Soon?"

"Dinner, a tour of the master closet, then we're out," Santana cleared her throat and checked for an audience. "We should be home free unless Rachel decides to sing or something. Even so, we'll sneak out as soon as she dips into the chorus. She goes into a fucking Rachel Berry induced coma at the sound of her own voice."

"Good," Brittany nodded happily in view of everyone else, yet she was drawing intricate duck shapes on the other woman's upper thigh under the surface. "I can't wait."

Santana breathed deeply, "Me either."

"Psst, Brittany," Kurt said as she stretched across the back of Santana's chair, breaking them out of their trance. "What is that guy's name again?"

"Who?"

"Eyebrows Galore over there," Santana said, her eyes shifting down the table. "He's wiggling them at one of us like they're going out of style. Which, they did, in 1972."

"Oh, that's Blaine. Blaine Anderson," Brittany answered. "And considering he's gay as a rocket ship, he's probably trying to flirt with Kurt."

"Of course," Kurt smiled and did a finger wave in Blaine's direction. Blaine blushed and looked away quickly. "What's his story?" Kurt asked.

"Great guy," Brittany told him. "A bit on the boring side. And when I say a bit, I mean Level 5 Snoozefest. Like, you'll fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. Like, he's one of those dinosaurs that only eats plants. But, he's super nice, has tons of hair product, and a bowtie in every color of the rainbow."

"Interesting," Kurt said as he did a perusal of the man's clothing. "Not the best dressed guy in the room, 'cause that's me, but I might be able to deal with it."

"I have to warn you, though," the blonde said. "With the flux in immigration laws, he could be deported back to Guadalajara at any time. He says he won't be, but I also think he lies."

"Oh," the man frowned. "I can't do long distance. I'm just not strong enough."

Brittany and Santana's eyes met each other and they shared shy smiles.

"You'd be surprised what you're willing to do when you find someone who's worth it," Santana told him.

Kurt gave a Brittany a knowing wink. "I suppose that's true, Santana."

"Isn't this amazing?" Brittany heard from the other side of her, effectively snapping her attention away from Kurt. It was Artie, who practically had stars in his eyes as he followed Rachel's every movement. "You have good connections, Britt."

Brittany shrugged, "Sure."

"This is really something, I'm sorry I wasn't on board with Santana before, but now that I know who she knows..."

"Okay," the blonde said. "That's not really why-"

"So, Rachel Berry," Artie cut her off as he had worked up the courage to address the star, "will you performing after dinner?"

"Shut it, Tool," Santana hissed while Brittany nudged him hard.

"Oh, my," Rachel said as she brought her hands to her heart. "I don't have a thing prepared."

Finn guffawed at the opposite end of the large dining room table. "Yeah, right," he said under a cough.

"Except that medley of songs from lesbian themed films that you had me prepare in honor of Santana and Brittany," Kurt reminded her.

"Yes, Kurt, except that," Rachel said through clenched teeth. "It was supposed to be a surprise, though."

"The surprise will be if you get through it before I murder you," Santana told her. "No...just no."

"But, I-"

"No," Santana said again with finality. "Not even if you're planning on screening the movies at the same time."

"So, I thought the two of you were married?" Holly asked pointing at both ends of the table where Finn and Rachel were seated.

"Oh, we are," Finn said as he tucked his tie into his shirt.

"Three years?" Rachel asked him. "Has it been that long?"

"Three glorious years," he answered.

"I'm confused," Holly looked at one and then the other, then took a gulp out of her flask.

"Aren't we all?" Santana complained as she sipped on her wine.

"Marriage is great," Will chimed in.

"Oh, crap," Brittany said under her breath.

Will continued, "I loved being married...then I got divorced."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Rachel checked his placecard, "William." She then looked to the opposite end of the table, "Divorces can get _so_ ugly."

"Or maybe downright pleasant," Santana threw in.

"Or maybe very expensive," Finn added.

"Or maybe I should write a tell-all book, Mr. Performance Anxiety. I'd have plenty of hookers that can back up my story."

"Divorce can get brutal," Will agreed with Rachel. "But, it's for the best. Our sex life wasn't very satisfying. She did live in a plastic bubble."

"And _nobody_ was popping that bubble, if you know what I mean," Holly said loudly and gave Will a hard slap on the chest.

"I almost forgot," Sugar said in realization. She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of rubberbanded bills. She tossed the money in Will's direction. "That's your divorce present. I couldn't find a card."

"What the hell is that about?" Santana asked Brittany quietly.

"She gives money instead of feelings," Brittany said.

"Oh." Santana seemed to accept this explanation pretty easily. "I'm familiar with the concept."

"I still don't even know why you invited me," Mercedes said to Rachel. "You never invite me to these things."

"I find that insulting, Mercedes," Rachel pouted. "I've invited you to dinner parties before. Besides, I wanted to apologize for being so ridiculous. I don't know why I made such a fuss about a pair of shoes. Really, I'm so ashamed. But, there is something..." She looked to her new assistant who was all the way down on the other side of table by Finn, "Kelly, will you grab those photos I had taken."

Kitty jumped to fulfill the request, as she reminded Rachel, "It's Kitty."

"Yeah, you should really stop correcting her," Santana gave her some advice. "I'm telling you, go with Kelly."

"Brody, why don't you switch places with Kelly," Rachel told her date.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights, "You want me to go down there by him?"

"Yeah," Rachel couldn't understand why he didn't immediately comply. "Finn's a nice guy, you two will get along just famously."

Brody still hesitated until Rachel glared. When he reached his newly assigned seat, Finn asked, "So plumbing? I've heard lots of interesting things about plumbing."

After, Rachel finally received the folder of photos, she resumed with Mercedes, "Now, I think a signature blouse that was contoured specifically for my body shape is more sue-worthy, don't you think?" She pulled out a series of black and white photos. "Exhibit A: Kristen Stewart wearing my shirt!"

"Now is not the time, Rachel," Santana said.

"Then when is the time? When K. Stew is flaunting my entire collection? What about R. Berr? I'm a trendsetter!"

"You're not a trendsetter, Rachel." Santana rolled her eyes. "Kurt is a trendsetter. You're like a lifesize Rachel Berry Barbie that he gets to play dress-up with every morning."

"It was my dream as a child," Kurt grinned. "Now if I only had the Barbie Corvette."

"I think you're a trendsetter," Artie yelled obnoxiously to Rachel.

Literally every pair of eyes turned to him.

Because of the short distance between them, Sugar leaned away, "Now you're going to die."

That, of course, prompted Beiste who was "shadowing" her, to jump into action. Sugar was in a headlock and lifted her clean out of her chair in a blink.

"Shit!" Brittany said as she cowered into Santana.

"Call her off!" Santana told Rachel.

"Beiste, down!" Rachel finally yelled. "She didn't mean me, she meant the crippled boy!"

Mercedes laughed, "_Now_ you might actually need me here for something."

Sugar was relieved when she was returned to her seating position and fanned herself off with a stack of twenties.

The resulting commotion also made Will drop his fancy napkin and he ducked quickly under the table. He came up very slowly, staring at Brittany.

Santana noticed, "What the fuck is your problem over there?"

"Uh..." Will shook his head quickly. "Nothing," but his eyes never left Brittany.

"Oh," the blonde said suddenly. "I didn't wear any underwear."

"I really do wish you'd take this seriously, Mercedes," Rachel told her lawyer.

"Fine," Mercedes gave in. "I'll sue the pants off Kristen Stewart."

"Oh my god!" Rachel screamed, "She's been wearing my pants too? Kelly, call my PI, I need more evidence."

"Kitty," Kitty said again even as she jumped out of her chair to do just that.

Santana groaned loudly, "Give it up!"

"Santana, that's mean," Brittany said. "I like it. Is it short for Kitten?"

"No," Kitty answered.

"Oh," Brittany was disappointed. "Then I don't like it anymore."

"Dinner is served," Henderson Head Chef announced abruptly.

"I really hope it's tacos," Holly told Will, pouring from the wine bottle on the table into her flask.

"I really hope it's peppers," Suzy uttered her first words of the evening.

The actual dinner portion of the evening was a rousing success. Rachel had informed them of that fact, actually. Brittany thought that it was only because everyone seemed to be either starstruck or paranoid about someone else in the room. Beiste was still watching Sugar intently. Sugar had taken a sudden interest in Suzy Pepper, who was in turn watching Finn through the tines of her dinner fork. Finn was keeping a close eye on Brody next to him, who was mesmerized by Blaine's eyebrows. Blaine was still trying to get Kurt's attention, which was stolen by Kitty because she was providing him with photos of Kristen Stewart in evening wear. Mercedes had her eye on Artie, because she was willing to smack that bitch if he brought up Rachel singing again. Artie had abandoned all pretense of decency and had starting taking pictures of Rachel on his cell and tweeting them to his mother. Holly was making weird passes at Will while he was crying soundlessly onto his plate. When Brittany took a look to her left, Santana was watching her.

"You ready to see a giant closet?" Santana asked.

Brittany was excited, "I've never been in one!"

It took absolutely no time to escape considering everyone was preoccupied and soon enough they were rushing up the grand staircase.

"The Master Closet!" Santana presented as she threw the door open with a flourish.

"Wow," Brittany said as she took a look around. "This is double the size of my whole apartment."

"I wouldn't doubt it, this was two apartments before Rachel remodeled it. Okay, the rotating jeans rack," Santana pointed. "Then we have the tops of every kind and every color." Santana pulled Brittany a little further into the room, "Accessories. Belts. Jewelry." She nodded behind her, "You've seen the stage."

"I honestly thought you were kidding about the conveyor belt," the blonde said as she watched a rejected pair of shoes float by.

"I would never joke about something like that," Santana said with a wink.

"It's definitely looks bigger in real life than it does over the phone."

"First of all, wanky. Secondly, yes, it probably does."

"Thanks for showing me."

"Wait a second." Santana grabbed Brittany by the shoulders positioned her at a certain spot in the large room. "Right..._here_ is where I was standing when I got your text message about coming to New York."

"Right _here_?" Brittany pointed down.

"Exactly."

"There's no way you remember exactly where you were standing."

Santana rolled up on her tiptoes to place a quick kiss on the blonde's lips, "I do."

Brittany pulled her into her arms for a hug. "You're so sweet, Santana."

"I don't get that very often," the brunette laughed.

"You are."

"Thanks," Santana ducked her head a little embarrassed by the compliment.

Brittany didn't think she'd ever been cuter. "Can we go right now?"

When they made it back downstairs, Rachel was pulling out her golden microphone while Artie followed her around taking video now. Will was sitting on a sofa eating guacamole with a spoon out of a very large bowl. Mercedes was congratulating Sugar on the Grammy she got in her "settlement" with Rachel, while Beiste looked on from a mere five feet away. Finn was showing Brody the game ball from his one and only successful playoff game, while Suzy watched them creepily from behind a potted fern. Blaine was arguing the merits of clip-on bowties with Kurt. Kitty was meticulously taking inventory, which was always an instruction from Rachel when she had "friends" over. And Holly had passed the fuck out on the floor, flask gripped tightly in her hand.

"Should we tell them we're leaving?" Brittany asked.

"And risk having to stay here one more minute with these people?" Santana shook her head. "No way in hell." Santana couldn't pull her out of Rachel's apartment fast enough.

"It's not usually that crazy," Santana said as they exited a cab. "I mean, it's crazy, but your people seem a little crazy, too."

"They are," Brittany agreed as they walked into Santana's building hand in hand. "Kurt is fantastic, though."

"He is," Santana nodded. "But never, ever, say that I said that."

"It'll be our little secret."

"Thanks," Santana said gratefully as she pressed the floor button for the elevator.

"I'm so glad I met him," Brittany commented as the two of them entered the elevator car. "And Rachel, too...I guess."

"She's over the top."

"Over the top is an understatement."

"Yeah." Santana watched the elevator doors slide open. "You're completely right."

"It was a fun night, though," Brittany said. "Thank you for taking me out. Not everyone meets Rachel Berry on a first date."

"No, just that one other couple on the carriage ride," Santana said they approached Santana's doorway.

"That sounds nice."

The brunette pulled out her keys, "It could have been nice. Except Rachel starting singing Endless Love at the top of her lungs and it spooked the horses."

"Oh my god," Brittany said following Santana into her apartment.

"Yeah, poor kids ended up in Yonkers."

"Were they alright?"

Santana threw her blazer over the back of a chair and walked into her bedroom, "Just some cuts and bruises. Horses were fine. Carriage driver was fine. Rachel cut everyone a check."

Brittany followed her in, but stopped and watched as Santana took off her watch and earrings. "I bet that was a mess for you, though."

"Just part of my job," Santana laughed. "I'm pretty good-"

Whatever she was going to say floated away when she turned around just in time to see Brittany's dress pool around her ankles.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sex for Santana Lopez had never been awkward. Okay, okay. Maybe that first girl in 10th grade. Yeah, maybe that was a little awkward, but not since then. Since then, she kicked ass at sex. She was a sex star. She was a sex pro. Hmm, okay, maybe not a sex pro, but really good at it? Yes. Confidence was not a problem for her. So, when she found herself standing in her bedroom staring at Brittany, wondering what to do next, she was a little worried. Worried that she was going to psych herself right out of it. Why did it feel like so much was riding on one night?

Maybe because it was. Almost.

All she knew was everything in her own body wanted out, probably to make room for Brittany. Her heart was beating hard enough to make her sway on the spot. So many thoughts were racing through her mind, but she couldn't catch them, pin them down, or make sense of any of them.

She was memorizing.

Because there was Brittany. Brittany and the blonde hair that fell onto her shoulders. Brittany and the way her eyes were catching the light. Brittany and those legs that went on for days. Brittany's smile that was only meant for her. Brittany's perfect breasts. Abs that Santana wanted to lick. Landing strips. Brittany and everything she wanted was just a few steps away. Brittany.

"You're thinking too much."

Santana stared blankly. "Am I?"

"Either that or you're a virgin and you're trying to figure out what's going to go where," the blonde said with a smirk. "But, my guess is you're thinking too much."

"Yeah, that's possible," Santana said. "The thinking part, not the virgin part."

"You're standing over there, and I'm over here," she said. "You can continue to think it over closer to me."

When Santana shuffled over within a few feet, Brittany grabbed her hand and pulled her in the rest of the way.

"Better," Brittany said as she trapped Santana in her arms.

Yeah. Better. Because standing a few feet away from naked Brittany Pierce was like being given the key to Hot Lady City, but being pressed up against naked Brittany Pierce was like every fucking great thing that had ever happened to her times twelve and _then_ being given the key to Hot Lady City.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the brunette said quickly, looking into blue eyes. "Everything is perfect."

"Hmm," her lips twisted. "It doesn't seem like it, though."

Santana rested her hands on Brittany's hips and she took a deep breath, "It's a big deal."

"This?"

"Us."

"Well, yeah," Brittany nodded. "We are a big deal, but this doesn't have to be. It's just us getting to know each other even better. Like a naked 20 questions."

"That could be interesting. Do you want to go first?"

"How 'bout you go first," Brittany told her in a hushed tone as her lips moved to Santana's neck. "Relax," she breathed right before they made contact. Brittany kissed her slowly, down her neck with open mouthed kisses, licking every once in a while just for variety. The sensation of that alone made it hard for Santana to breathe. Brittany kissed to the base of her neck, swept over her collarbone, and then back up the other side, "You relaxed yet?"

"More, so."

"We both want this, right?"

"Fuck, yes."

"Okay, then." Brittany dragged her lips across Santana's jawline to her ear. "I've imagined this a thousand different ways. So forgive me if I try to make all those things happen at once."

"Uh huh," Santana mumbled, dazed by the three millions tingles shooting in every direction.

Santana's hands suddenly found their way to Brittany's shoulders and she slowly scratched down her back. Her fingers glided down soft skin and settled on the blonde's ass. When her eyes flicked back up to Brittany's, a pale hand was hooking behind her neck and pulling her in. When her tongue flicked at a pink nipple, she heard a gasp and felt fingers digging just below her hairline.

"That feels really good, San."

She took that approval as an invitation to swirl her tongue around it. Brittany's fingers worked higher into her hair, wrapping the strands in her fist, and pulling her in tighter as she arched even more into Santana. She was very content with having her mouth on Brittany, so much so that she was licking a hot, wet trail between her breasts, when she was interrupted by Brittany's hands trying furiously to divest her of her clothing.

"Off," was all Santana could make out as the blonde tugged at her shirt. Brittany's fingers fumbled over buttons and she seemed just about ready to start ripping when Santana stepped back just enough to unbutton the shirt herself.

"I got it," Santana whispered.

"Do it faster," Brittany told her, watching as each little bit of skin was revealed. It proved to be a more difficult task when she felt Brittany graze the gap of skin that was showing between her shirt and pants.

Just as she reached the last button, Brittany's hands slipped under and pushed it down her arms and onto the floor. In nearly the same motion, she had unhooked Santana's bra and pulled the straps over her shoulders. She wasted no time on Santana's pants and soon enough she was lifting her out of them. Santana could do little except wrap her legs around Brittany's waist and enjoy the kissing assault the blonde had launched while she carried them to Santana's bed.

Once they reached their destination, Brittany let her drop the short distance with a soft bounce. She crawled over Santana, nudging her knees apart, until she hovered about the brunette. "How's it going so far?" she asked, propped up on one arm. The other dragging down Santana's abs.

Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany's neck, her weight pulling the blonde down on top of her. "I think it's going well," she answered before nipping at Brittany's bottom lip. The kiss started out playful, a harmless bite. Slowly it became all lips and humming, then tongues and moaning. Brittany had positioned herself over Santana's thigh, rocking into her, sliding more and more easily. Santana pressed her thigh in harder, grabbing Brittany's hips and pushing down to create all the friction she could.

The blonde seemed to resist a little at first, which Santana didn't understand until she heard a garbled, "You first."

Santana quickly worked her hand in between them and circled Brittany's clit.

There really wasn't much arguing with that. Santana's fingers sunk into Brittany and the blonde sat up, using the leverage to thrust against Santana's hand. Santana was completely mesmerized by the view. Brittany's stomach muscles rippled with each movement. Her breasts bounced lightly, her head thrown back and she gripped Santana's headboard with one hand. This is why it felt like so much was riding on one night.

"More," Brittany requested breathlessly.

Santana added a third finger and soon they had found their rhythm again. Or, actually Brittany's rhythm. Brittany had great rhythm. She was deliciously rhythmic. When she felt Brittany tightening around her, she knew the blonde was close. She curled her fingers ever so slightly. And then impact. Brittany froze, her breath catching, her body stilling. Then she was falling forward.

Santana closed her eyes awaiting the crash, but it never came. When she opened them, Brittany was hovering above her again, smiling like a crazy, sexy person.

"You cheated," Brittany said as both her arms held onto the headboard. "I said you first."

"My god, you're beaut-"

That was all Santana got out because Brittany's lips were attacking hers. The girl moved like a fucking cheetah. Before Santana had gained any semblance of what was happening, Brittany's lips were moving surely down her chest, between her breasts. Her hands flitted down Santana's stomach, then around her hips. Long, pale fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and they were being pulled down her legs. Brittany kissed all the way down one leg, chucked Lucky Undies V.2 over her shoulder, and started back on an upward path.

As she got higher and higher, she pushed Santana legs out further, settling between them. She licked over a tanned knee, then crept up an inner thigh. As Santana's hands twisted into blonde hair, she wanted to remember every little thing because it was the first time. Their first time. Her mind wasn't exactly cooperating, though. It was hard when Santana could feel her heartbeat in her clit. Pun intended. Somehow she knew it wasn't the last time she'd be here with Brittany. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew she would have this to look forward to for the rest of her life. That would have been really romantic to say, too. But, Santana Lopez was never for articulation at intense moments, so it came out, "Fuck yes, Britt. Oh god, yes."

Santana was a time bomb and Brittany had the detonator. All she had to do was press the button and it would be over. And that was true in so many more ways than just sex. In this case, however, as soon as Brittany's tongue was on her, she was coming undone.

It was quick. It was too quick. It was embarrassingly quick. It was the months of build up, it was the days of anticipation in such close proximity, it was the sheer epicness of a naked Brittany Pierce touching her. It was too much.

"Fuck," she said loudly, half in ecstasy, half in frustration.

All movement stopped and she looked down to find Brittany resting her chin on Santana's hip. "What that a good fuck or a bad fuck?"

"Good! That was a good fuck."

"Really?"

"Yes." Now, she felt like a giant asshole. "That was amazing. So fucking great. Too great."

Brittany was taken aback, "Huh?"

"Um...well...it didn't exactly say much for my endurance."

The blonde looked genuinely confused for a second and then laughed. "You're such a spaz!"

"Oh, thanks," Santana was offended, "Everyone loves to be insulted right after an orgasm. It's the best."

Brittany crawled back up Santana's body and pecked her lips, "You're the best. That was awesome. You're also a spaz. And that was only the first time. There's going to be a second." Kiss. " Almost for sure a third." Kiss. " After a light snack, probably a fourth, too."

"Are we going to try out every way you imagined it?"

"And then some," Brittany said, diving back down to capture Santana's lips with her own.

Just to be clear, there was a second. There was a third. There was a break for Brittany to have one of the pudding packs Santana had bought her. Some of that pudding was licked off Brittany's abs, just as God intended. There was a shower (fourth) so that Santana's new sheets didn't get sticky. Pudding sticky, not sweaty sex sticky. She totally didn't mind the sweaty sex sticky. She thought about getting the sheets vacuum sealed to forever maintain the sweaty sex sticky, but then figured that was weird. She should probably never repeat that.

When they finally went to bed that night, they were connected in every which way imaginable. Bodies linked. Emotions tied up in the other. Lives tangled together. Every way, except one. And as Brittany fell asleep on Santana's shoulder, all she could think about was the distance that was about to replace what she had in her arms right then.

She woke the next morning to a light, but very distracting, sucking under her arm.

"Britt?" Santana squirmed. "What are you doing?" she said into a yawn.

"You have great armpits," Brittany told her through a mumble.

Santana's eyebrows furrowed, "I have great armpits?"

"Yeah," Brittany told her seriously. "Really, really, _really_ great armpits."

"Okaaaay."

"Sooo...it may be a good time to tell you that I have a thing about armpits."

"A thing?"

"Thing. Minor obsession. Fetish."

"An armpit fetish?" Santana's face scrunched in disgust. "That's..."

"Sexy," Brittany said burying her nose in further.

"Stop!" the brunette laughed. "That tickles."

"It'll stop tickling," Brittany told her.

"No, no...nooo...k..." Santana's eyes involuntarily closed. "Ohhhh...yeah, that's different."

Brittany lifted up and leaned on her elbows, "I've kinda always wanted to..."

"What?"

"Hmm...I'm not sure I should tell you this yet..."

"No, go ahead, now I'm intrigued."

"Okay," Brittany leaned into Santana and whispered into her ear.

"Whoa! That sounds like some interesting lady sex," Santana said after she explained it. "We'll have to work up to all that."

"There's a super high risk of shoulder injury, you'll need to stretch properly beforehand."

"Okay, hey," Santana gave her a quick kiss, "I'll let you do whatever you want. We'll do whatever, okay. But, let's save the really kinky genital to armpit kind of stuff for when I've had a few drinks."

"Deal," Brittany said without a second thought.

"So?" The brunette clutched a naked thigh and pulled Brittany a bit closer. "What do you want to do today?"

"Do you have something planned?"

"Well, I thought of about a million things I could show you, but this is your last day and I don't really want to share you with the city," Santana shrugged.

"I don't want to be shared," Brittany said kissing her chin. "I'm pretty happy with just being played with by you."

"So I can monopolize your time?"

"You want to play board games?" Brittany's eyes widened. "That sounds cool!"

"Uh...yeah, sure."

It turned out that Santana Lopez did not own Monopoly, but they did play a pretty confusing round of Strip Yahtzee Reverse. A game in which the player puts on only revealing clothing. Brittany won, which was inevitable because only she knew the rules, when she ended the game wearing one tube sock, a headband and a mock turtleneck that Santana didn't know even existed. And, in accordance with the pre-game agreement, she also got to pick the next activity.

"No way!" Brittany spun around and pointed to Santana, "You've been holding out on me."

"What did you find?"

"Only my favorite show of all time."

"Which is?" Santana asked, trying to see whatever Brittany had picked off her DVD shelf.

Brittany presented it with a little jump in place, "Sweet Valley High!"

"Oh shit," Santana covered her eyes in embarrassment. "I meant to burn that."

"Why?"

"Because."

Brittany waited for a response. "Because?"

"C'mon."

"I love it," the blonde said. "And you do too, Santana, or you wouldn't have it."

"It's Kurt's."

"No, it isn't."

"It is," Santana argued fruitlessly. "He's Elizabeth and I'm Jessica."

"Totally, Jessica is the hot one."

"They're identical."

"Or are they?" Brittany asked.

"Uh...I think so," Santana answered.

"Can we watch?"

"I guess," Santana told her reluctantly. The reluctance faded as soon as Brittany curled into her, though. Something about kicking back and watching Sweet Valley High on a lazy afternoon with Brittany's head in her lap felt really right. Scarily domestic, but really right.

She watched her watch the show mostly, brushing her fingers through her hair. That show was awful, but Brittany seemed to really enjoy it and laughed hysterically. Her laughing made Santana laugh.

When Brittany's eyes cut up, she narrowed them. "I thought you didn't like it."

"I don't," Santana told her.

"Then why are you laughing?"

"I'm...amused, I guess."

"By me?"

"Yeah."

Brittany rose to her knees and shifted over to straddle Santana's lap. "I'm amusing?"

"Very."

The blonde ducked down just a breath away from her lips, "And just how amused are you?"

"I'd say I'm pretty heavily amused right now," Santana told her as she closed the gap.

"I could get used to this," Brittany said when she pulled away.

"What's that?"

"Sweet lady kisses during Sweet Valley High."

Santana marveled at small miracles like how well their bodies molded together. It was like she was made to fit Brittany perfectly, in every which way they tried. A theory proven by how comfortable she was sitting between Brittany's legs on her couch. Santana was checking her email, since she hadn't really "worked" in a few days now. Brittany was texting her parents all her flight information for the next day. They liked to know that kind of stuff, the blonde had explained.

When she was done, Brittany set her phone on the table and hugged Santana from behind.

"Hey," she said as she placed her chin on the brunette's shoulder. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Britt Britt," Santana said a bit distracted by an email reply.

"When I get home Sam is going to ask me about stuff," Brittany said.

"Okay, yeah."

"He's going to say," Brittany's voice dropped lower to imitate Sam, "'Hey, Britt, how was Santana?' And then I'm going to say, 'She was great! She's so beautiful and amazing! It was the most awesome three days ever.'"

Santana laughed, "Thanks, babe. It _was_ the most awesome three days ever."

"Totally," Brittany went on, "and then, because he's such a guy, Sam's going to say, 'Sounds great, Britt, so did you capture the monkey?' And I'm going to say, and I hope this is okay with you, 'Hell, yeah!' and then we'll fist bump."

Santana finished typing and dropped her phone into her lap, "Sure, you can tell him you captured my monkey."

Brittany blushed, "It's a great monkey."

"I know," the brunette told her as she linked their fingers.

"So, anyway, then Sam's going to ask, 'So what does that mean about you girls?' and that's the question I may have a little trouble with."

"Okay," Santana said, trying to decipher exactly where Brittany was going.

"I'm not sure what to tell him."

"What do you want to tell him?" Santana asked.

"What would you tell him?"

"Well, if Sam was asking me that question," Santana blew out a dramatic breath, "I'd hunker down for fear that his trouty mouth would swallow me whole."

"Santana..."

"What? I've only seen him in pictures and FaceTime, but holy shit, those lips are like two blubbery whales mating."

"But how would you answer the question?"

Santana grinned at Brittany impatience, "I want to be whatever you want us to be."

"So I can decide?"

"If you decide that we're together, then yes," the brunette said.

Brittany kissed her cheek, "So I can tell Sam that you're my girlfriend?"

Santana leaned her head against Brittany's shoulder, "I'd be really disappointed if you didn't."

Everything about those three days flew by. Everything had happened too fast and everything was over too quickly. Santana was still trying to piece together where all the time had gone the next morning as she watched Brittany pack for the airport.

"You pack like a little kid," Santana told her as she sat cross legged on her bed next to Brittany's suitcase. She was refolding the things that Brittany had put in.

"It's packing," Brittany said. "Everybody hates it and it doesn't even matter."

Santana thought about that, "You have a point, but not necessarily a good one." When she got to Brittany's UW sweatshirt, she folded it and sat it in her lap instead.

"Why pack when you just have to unpack?"

"There's a good reason," Santana replied. "I just can't think of one right now."

"Don't fight Brittany Pierce logic," Brittany said with a kiss.

Santana hung on just a little longer than Brittany intended. "I can't believe you're already going," she said when their lips parted. "Feels like you just got here."

"I know."

They packed the rest of Brittany's things in silence. Smiles and soft kisses, but sad silence. Santana followed Brittany all the way down to the street where Figgins was waiting, hanging onto the blonde's hand like she couldn't bear to be separated from it. She almost couldn't.

"You'll call when you get there."

"As soon as I get home," Brittany told her. "Well, after I feed Tubbs."

"Of course."

"So that's...around 4 o'clock for you."

"One for you," Santana said, the automatic time difference calculator already kicking back in.

"Yeah," Brittany sighed. "Okay, well..."

Santana nodded sadly before she wrapped her arms around the blonde. They stayed locked in a tight embrace until Figgins cleared his throat and tapped his watch.

"Yeah, okay," Santana snapped at him. He backed off at the glare she shot him.

"I guess I have to go," Brittany frowned. "Bye Santana."

"Bye Britt Britt." The brunette looked down and found that Brittany's sweatshirt was still in her hand. "Oh," she held it out.

"You keep it."

Santana shook her head, "No, it's your favorite."

"So are you."

And then she was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Brittany Pierce had never spent much time dwelling on anything in her life. She figured there wasn't much use in it. Everything happened for a reason. Like, for instance, when Ace Holt threw her lollipop in the sandpit in 1st grade because she was a stupid girl. Or when her best friend stopped being her friend when she came out to her at a sleepover. Or when she missed the flying cheerleader in a faulty basket toss and the girl spent the first semester of their senior year in a neck brace. Or blowing out a knee and dashing all her dancing aspirations. Or, more recently, like meeting the woman of her dreams. Which is great, except she lived on the other side of the country.

It's all for a reason.

For most of those things, Brittany didn't even need to know the reason. It just was how it was. The thing with Santana was different, though. No, her _relationship _with Santana was another story.

Meeting Santana was a life-changing event. Being with her was everything she thought it would be. Everything. It was even better than she imagined. But, leaving Santana in New York was agonizing. And now she felt like she was living from phone call to phone call. When the wait between the phone calls was too long, she felt like she'd go insane.

It was one of those times, as she was cuddled under the sheets on her bed staring at her phone. She'd been willing it to ring for the last two hours. Or buzz, buzzing would be okay. Chiming would work. Vibrating. Chirping. Any of those. The longer she stared, though, the less happened. Santana said she'd call as soon as she could. Logically, she knew that could mean anytime. In her head, though, all sorts of scenarios were playing out. What if Santana was hurt? What if Santana didn't want to to call? What if Santana changed her mind? What if Santana met someone else? What if Santana was arrested for trying to cover up a Rachel Berry murder? The waiting was torture.

"Okay, I'm officially worried," she heard Sam say.

She looked up to find her best bud and roommate leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. "Why? Do you think something happened?"

"About you, Britt," Sam told her as he made his over to sit on the bed. "I'm worried about you. You...aren't yourself."

"I'm me." She sat up in her tangled sheets, but still clutched her phone tightly.

"You haven't been you in three weeks. You haven't had your usual rainbow sprinkles on your double scoop ice cream cone. You haven't rearranged the refrigerator poetry magnets. You haven't even picked out a Halloween costume for Lord Tubbington. It's very un-Brittany-like."

"Tubby doesn't want to do Halloween. He's dieting. He said he felt like a chubster in his pumpkin costume last year and all the neighborhood kids kept calling him Garfield."

"Okay, that's probably a good thing. That he's dieting," Sam clarified. "But that's not really the point, Britt. I mean, you were so happy when you got back from New York. Now, you just seem sad all the time."

"I'm happy!" she defended. "I'm really happy."

"Are you sure? This isn't like the time your face started confusing your emotions, is it?"

"No. I'm happy. I'm sad that Santana's not...here...or I'm not there." She sunk down in bed and she consciously tried to keep her lips from turning down. "I am sad that this is so new and we're so far away from each other. I just wish we were together."

"But you are together."

"Yes. Just not _together_ together."

"Have you talked about that yet?" Sam asked curiously. "Is it an exclusive together?"

"Yes," Brittany said slowly. "Of course, it's exclusive."

"And you're really okay with that? Not dating anyone else?"

Brittany shifted her eyes, what a dumb question. "Yes," she said again.

"Because the two of you could be together, and plan to see each other, and talk to each other, but...I don't know, date other people for now."

Brittany turned to look at him, "Why would we do that?"

"Because she lives in New York, Brittany."

"So."

"So?"

"So!" Brittany bit her lip in frustration. "It doesn't matter where she is. Or where I am. We're talking about a woman that I couldn't get out of my head from the first time I heard her speak. The first time I _heard_ her, Sam. Even though she was a total bitch and kind of mean. We're talking about a stranger I texted because I _had_ to, even though I would never do that. Someone that I agreed to stay with before I had ever met her, because I _know_ her. I just know her and I know this is the right thing for us." She really believed that. She did. She just wished that it felt more concrete. She looked back over at Sam who seemed to be studying her, "Has any of that ever happened to you?"

"No," he told her with a quick shake of his head.

"Well, it has to me," Brittany informed him. "You wouldn't understand. You would never wait three months to sleep with someone without getting bored."

"This isn't about me, though," Sam argued.

"No, it's not. It's about me and Santana. I don't know how to explain it to you, Sam. And I don't mean like the other things I don't know how to explain like relativity or how they get those ships in bottles."

Sam thought it over for a long time before he replied, "Giant tweezers?"

"Possibly," Brittany shrugged.

"So you're serious about her?"

"I've never been more serious about anything," Brittany answered firmly.

Sam smiled, "Well, congratulations, Brittany. But, you still can't just sit around and wait for her to call."

"I'm just anxious," Brittany said while checking her phone to make sure she hadn't missed anything. "She said that she'd call as soon as she could get away from Rachel. That was hours ago."

"Hm," he hummed in disapproval. "Have you talked about what you're going to do? I mean, this is _really_ long distance."

Brittany sighed, "I'm a little afraid to."

"Why?"

"Because I think that she'll think that I'm asking her to ask me to move and I don't want to ask her to ask me. I want her to ask me on her own. Because I would totally move if she asked me, but I don't want her to feel pressured or feel like it's moving too fast."

"You don't think it's already moving too fast?"

"No." Brittany was annoyed with him. "It can't happen for a while anyway. I have to finish with Whoopsies first."

"What if she never asks?"

"She will," Brittany told him confidently. "I know she will."

He looked like he was going to ask something else, but Brittany's ringing phone cut him off. She gave Sam a look and pointed toward her bedroom door. He took the hint and got up to leave. She waited until he closed to door to answer.

"Hey gorgeous," was the greeting she received.

"Hi."

"I'm so sorry it took so long to call back."

"That's okay," Brittany replied, already feeling better at just the sound of Santana.

"No, it's not. It was way too long without hearing your voice."

"For me, too. But, I know you're busy."

"I'm not busy anymore. I'm all yours now." When Brittany didn't reply she asked, "What's wrong?"

"What? Nothing."

"You sound sad," Santana said after a pause.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Brittany rolled her eyes. "I'm happy."

"Is your voice confusing those emotions again, babe?"

"No. I'm happy." Brittany shifted further into her sheets. She curled her blanket around her arm and tucked herself in.

"Okay, if you say so," Santana sounded unconvinced.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you happy?" Brittany asked shyly. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it. She needed the confirmation. "With the arrangement?"

"With us?" Santana asked. "Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Sam just said something-"

"What did Sam say?"

"That maybe we should be dating other people, too."

"No offense to Sam," Santana huffed. "But that's just stupid."

"So you don't want to do that?"

"No, Britt. No. I want to date you. Just you. Only you."

"But, it's not like we're actually going to be dating, Santana," Brittany told her. "Not with you there and me here."

"Alright, no. We're not technically going on dates together. But I want to be with you. It's like we're together with intent to date...eventually."

"Eventually." Brittany almost choked on the word. She didn't like it. It was much too open-ended.

"We're going to get there," Santana assured her. "In the mean time, let's not do that thing where we listen to our friends. Even when they're trying to help, okay? This is about us and if something's not right, you can tell me. We'll talk it out."

"Okay."

"So everything is...right?"

"As right as it can be, I guess."

"I know it's hard," Santana said. "It's hard for me, too. I don't know how to do this. It's completely new. Most of my relationships have been all about physicality, so this...we'll have to both learn how to be together without being in the same place. It's going to take some time. And patience, which I'm not very good at. But, I'll get better. I want to. You're so worth it, Brittany Pierce."

Brittany smiled at her girlfriend's ramble, "How are you still single?"

"I'm not," Santana answered quickly. "Remember? On my couch. You decided we were together now. You're stuck with me."

"I mean, how _were_ you?"

"I don't know..."

"That answer sucks," Brittany said with little room for argument.

"Yeah, okay," Santana clucked her tongue. "I work too much. Rachel's a full time job on top of the full time job of managing her...crap. Let's see, oh, I'm kind of a bitch. And honestly, I wasn't really looking for a relationship, because I was a little hung up on an ex."

"Quinn?"

"Yeah."

"Should we talk about that?" Brittany asked.

"Do you want to talk about that?" Santana questioned quietly. "Because we can if you want, but there's no pressing reason to. I'm over that and her and everything that happened in the aftermath. I have been for a while."

"So monthly lunches weren't dates?" Brittany was really curious to know. "Or just reasons to see her?"

"Dates, no. She's married and has a kid. Reasons to see her? Maybe for a while, yes. But, at the end, I hated them. You were the first good reason I had to stop putting myself through that."

"Good."

"Good?"

"I'm glad that you and Quinn didn't work out."

"I'm fucking ecstatic that it didn't work out with Quinn," Santana laughed. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Relationships. You haven't told me a lot about any."

"Because there's not a lot to say about them. I told you about my first girlfriend from high school. I loved her and our breakup was really hard and took me a while to get over. I dated another girl for a year or so while I was still dancing. Her name was Cee Cee and she was great. But, we broke up when I transferred to U Dub."

"And since then?"

"A lot of first dates, a lot of dead ends, and one magical wrong number that led to you."

"The best wrong number ever."

"Yeah," Brittany agreed. "God, you were so sexy."

"I thought I was bitchy."

"You were! But, your voice," Brittany sighed. "So sexy. I thought, 'this woman is such a bitch, but she sounds absolutely beautiful.'"

"No, you didn't," Santana laughed. "You thought I was horrible."

"Horrible in a really hot way, though."

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you," Santana told her. "It's all fucking Puckerman's fault. Although, I probably wouldn't have answered if I didn't think it was him. So, maybe I should thank him next time I see his skanky ass."

"Tell him thank you for me, too," Brittany said. "And you've more than made up for being a bitch the first time. You're amazing, Santana."

"Aw," Santana replied. "Britt..."

"It's true."

"I...think you're amazing, too. And smart and hilarious...and...I...like you so much."

Brittany let that sink in. "I like you so much, too."

"Yeah...," Santana cleared her throat.

"Yeah."

The conversation stalled and hung there, which almost never happened between the two of them. Brittany let thirty seconds pass, then a minute. She pulled the phone away just to make sure Santana was still on the line. She was about to mention the weather, when she heard a lot of shuffling and finally a long exhale.

"Where are you?"

"In bed," Brittany replied.

"You've been waiting in bed for me to call?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing?"

"Nothing," Brittany answered immediately.

"Damn, babe, that's really sexy."

It would have been, too. If it was true, but it wasn't. She could totally get away with it, but something made her want to confess all. "Okay, okay, San, I lied. I'm really wearing a t-shirt, fuzzy socks, and my Hello Kitty panties."

"Oh." Santana seemed to be thinking over the possibilities. "Take off the socks, I can work with the rest."

"But, it's cold."

"Briiiittt."

"Okay," Brittany paused. "They're off."

"Are they really?"

"No."

"Fine, keep them on. I've seen you naked, I can imagine it. I have a great imagination when it comes to you being naked."

"Wait!" Brittany all but shouted. "What about you?"

"I've been naked, baby."

"What are you doing?" Brittany asked reaching down to pull the fuzzy socks off and throwing them on her bedroom floor.

"Waiting on you to get naked with me."

"Where are your hands?"

"Sliding down my stomach, inching closer and closer to my-"

"Don't say it!"

"Brittany..."

"You know what happens."

"Britt!"

"Santana, you know I want to have phone sex with you." Brittany checked around to make sure Lord Tubbington wasn't in the room. "But if you say the word, I'm going to giggle and you're going to get pissed."

"I don't understand why it's so funny when I say that."

"I don't know either, it just is."

"Fine. Okay. You want to know what I want to do?" Santana purred seductively.

"Yes, Santana, I know exactly what you want to do."

"No...well, yes...but more specifically."

"What?"

"I want to kiss the freckle."

"You can kiss the freckle."

"I'm kissing the freckle right now."

"I love it when you do that."

"I'm sucking on the freckle."

"Don't leave a bruise."

"What?"

"Don't leave a bruise, San."

"Okay, number one: how? number two: nobody would see it anyway."

"What do you mean nobody would see it?" Brittany was confused. "Are we even talking about the same freckle?"

"Does it even matter?"

"I'm just being realistic," Brittany said seriously.

"Now? This is a good time for realism?" Santana scoffed.

"You said we have to take it seriously because it's the only way we can get it."

"Ugh," Santana complained. "Realistically, you would have already jumped me by now."

"Santana, realistically, you would still be rocking back and forth in a corner and processing our relationship."

"Oh, yeah?" Santana's tone went slightly lower than usual. It was the bitchy tone. "Well, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy. There, laugh it up."

Brittany pulled her covers in tighter and looked over to the newly framed picture of the two of them. Both of them, in the same picture. Together. Smiling and touching and breathing the same air. She remembered what it felt like to have Santana's arms around her, but the memory was fading too quickly. She remembered how great it was to be surrounded by Santana's perfume, but couldn't nail down the scent anymore. She had spent three days with her, that's all. But, she knew three weeks was much too long to be away from her. Unfortunately, there wasn't an end in sight, yet.

Brittany gave her a some time to calm down before saying, "It wasn't funny that time."

"I'm sorry." Santana said softly. "I'm just..."

"I know..."

"I just miss you so much."

"Me, too."

"I know."

"I'm coming back, though..." Brittany tried to sound as hopeful as possible, but still ended the sentence with, "in a couple of months for work."

"That's too long," Santana whined. "I want you here now."

"What about Thanksgiving?" the blonde suggested. "That's just a few weeks away."

"Still seems like forever."

"Yeah," Brittany agreed. She looked back at the picture adorning her bedside table. It _was_ forever. "You could come here. Even next weekend. You could come to Seattle and meet Sam and Tubbs and see the city and my apartment and..."

"I would love to," Santana said. "But I can't next weekend. The Run Joey Run premiere is next weekend. It's going to be a madhouse with Rachel."

"Oh, yeah," Brittany deflated. "Of course."

"I want to do all those things, though, Britt," Santana hurried to say. "More than anything."

"But you can't."

"No, I can't."

That was the loudest 'can't' Brittany had ever heard. It bounced around in her head, off every surface in her room, off the walls. Can't. Can't. Can't.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

**Santana**

_Britt..._

Santana punched send and waited. They'd been playing text tag all morning. Although, honestly, she didn't know how much of it was really text tag and how much was Brittany just taking her time to reply. She had heard "I'm not mad" no less than eighteen times the night before. "Of course, I understand" came in at eleven times. She knew both of those things were true. Brittany wasn't mad, she was disappointed. And Brittany did understand, it just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for either of one of them. Nothing was fair about being so far away.

She had said "I wish I could" probably a hundred times last night. She had said it to Brittany, to herself, to inanimate objects. That was true, too. She did wish she could go to Seattle. She wanted to be with Brittany. She wanted to be with Brittany anywhere and everywhere and in every way. And she would be. She'd be with Brittany sometime, somewhere, somehow. She knew that without question. It just wouldn't be then.

**Brittany**

_?_

Santana sighed at her reply. A question mark. Pretty fitting, though. There were so many things she hadn't told Brittany yet. So many things she wanted to say, but couldn't find the courage or the right time. She wanted to tell Brittany that she cried for hours after she left New York. She wanted to tell Brittany that she refreshed the Sea-Tac airport website every 30 seconds to make sure her flight landed safely. She wanted to tell Brittany she had never slept as well as she did when she was tangled up with her. She wanted to tell Brittany her apartment had never felt so quiet without her laugh. She wanted to tell Brittany she'd never felt more at home than when the blonde's clothes were thrown all over the floor. She wanted to tell Brittany she had already bought a plane ticket to Seattle for Thanksgiving. She wanted to tell Brittany that she was in love with her.

**Santana**

_Hi._

But she couldn't just yet.

She looked up from her phone to find Kurt studying his sketches of Rachel's pre-premiere attire on the magnetic board. He loved weeks like this. He _lived_ for weeks like this. He started months early with little paper outfits and a Rachel Berry made perfectly to scale on a tongue depressor. When the time had arrived, he was fully prepared with storyboards for each day. This was Kurt's time to shine. This was his week to be the king of the master closet.

"I hate weeks like this," Santana said. "I just don't understand why we need to have so many pre-parties and a pre-premiere event. That movie is going to bomb anyway."

"Rachel loves Premiere Week. I love Premiere Week. You're the only one who doesn't love it, Santana. You're outvoted."

"It's ridiculous."

"You're just mad because you can't sit around all day sexting with Brittany."

"I am mad about that, yes," Santana answered. "It doesn't make this any less ridiculous, though. Celebrating Rachel's overly inflated ego doesn't seem like the best use of my time."

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Kurt turned to her.

"Rachel's overly inflated ego?"

"No," Kurt shook his head. "I'm familiar with the ego, I mean you and Brittany and...you know."

"The sexting? That's none of your business," she answered with a growl.

"So, not well," Kurt tried not to laugh at her obvious annoyance. "But that's not what I wanted to know about either. How's the long distance thing?"

"It's hard." She subconsciously tapped her phone. "Harder than I thought it would be, and I knew as soon as she was gone that it was going to be fucking awful."

"Not finding enough time to talk?"

"We talk. Not as much as I'd like, but we do. That's not the problem. Don't get me wrong, I could talk to her all day. I do, some days. But, it's hard not seeing her, not being able to touch her. Those things are killing me. I don't mean to be a whiny bitch about it, but I really miss her."

Kurt gave her a sad smile, "It seems like it."

Santana shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide how much to say. "No, Kurt, I _really_ miss her."

"I understand," he nodded.

"No, I mean, I miss her like...I'm completely in love with her, miss her."

"I know you are, Santana," Kurt said like it was an absolute foregone conclusion and she was an idiot for not having known that everybody in the universe knew this information.

"It's that obvious?"

"I'm not sure if the thing that tipped me off was your constant talking about her. Or if it was watching you drool over her while she here or the fact that you keep her hoodie in your bag and you sniff it every hour on the hour?"

"I do not!" Santana denied.

"Let's check," the man made a sudden move for it.

"Okay, okay," she told him. "Don't touch it, you'll wear off the Brittany smell."

"How is she?"

"Perfect," Santana answered proudly. Then she remembered last night's conversation, "Not thrilled with me right now, though."

"Oh? Trouble in paradise already?"

"It's hardly paradise when she's in Seattle and she wants me to be in Seattle next weekend, but I can't be. No, definitely not paradise."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, she tried to play it off," Santana winced with the memory. "But she was really disappointed. I felt like a huge jerk."

"I can imagine." Kurt shifted around some of his designs on the board. "And now, I understand why you're not into Premiere Week."

"It's hard to care when I'd rather be with her."

Kurt laughed, "You've got it bad."

When he didn't get a normal bitchy response, he turned again to see her smiling. "I do."

"Well, I've known you for a long time, and I've never seen you like this. Not even with Quinn."

"Not even close," Santana replied. "Quinn was like Little League. She was a practice round. She was the pre-rinse cycle. All those things that seem really stupid, but you have to live through them to get to the really good stuff."

"And I suppose that Brittany's the really good stuff?"

"Brittany is...the stuff that I want. I need her stuff. I just wish her stuff was here instead of in Seattle. So I could enjoy her stuff. And she could enjoy mine and we could continually put our stuff together. We'd be mixing our stuff together right now."

"TMI."

"You know you like it," Santana told him with her usual sass. "It's hot. We're hot."

"What do you like, Kurt?" Rachel asked, entering the room and making a straight shot to the sketches on the board. She pretty much glazed over her own question, though, when he pointed to a couple drawings and said, "Switch these."

"Not a chance, Rachel," Kurt refused. "It's perfect. I've spent months on this to get it perfect. They were picked specifically each day to build to a beautiful crescendo on Premiere Night."

"Kurt, please," Rachel argued. "Nobody puts together a Premiere Week wardrobe like Rachel Berry. Us Weekly said so."

"I am the one who puts together Rachel Berry Premiere Week wardrobes," Kurt reminded her.

"Switch them!" Rachel commanded as she floated over to her vanity and pulled out a tube of mascara.

"No, never."

"Do it."

"Rachel, trust me when I say, your week of fashions has been perfectly planned and you should really back the the hell off."

"You guys make me want to barf," Santana added just because she could. "Rachel's going to look like a drunk slut at the end of every night no matter what she wears."

"Speaking of drunk sluts," Rachel addressed her, "Finn will not be going to any Premiere Week activities, so you'll need to come up with some spin for that. Or whatever it is that you do that makes me look good."

"Who is distracting that doofus for an entire week? He's aware that there will be all kinds of cameras to mug for, right?"

"I asked him not to accompany me on any red carpets. I'm phasing him out of my public persona."

"Phasing him out of your public persona?" Santana asked slowly. "Where do you come up with this shit?"

Rachel waved around her mascara before handing it off to Kurt, "It'll give us a couple of weeks of the mags running headlines about our mysterious status. I'm planning on giving an exclusive to the gossip rag that prints the most flattering picture of 'Single Rachel Berry.'"

"Are you trying to tell me you're getting divorced?" Santana asked trying not to get her hopes up.

"Not divorced."

"Damn!"

"Separated."

"Yes! One step closer," the publicist said as she raised her fist in triumph. "Almost there, Kurt!"

"Great news," Kurt commented as put the final touches on his painted eyelashes, "Does this give me a gay vibe?"

Santana gave him the benefit of a close look before saying, "I can safely say that your gay vibe can be seen from space. No, no, actually it can be seen from further away than that. We're talking galaxies far, far away. Like a planet where everything is the opposite of what we know. Where being gay is actually the norm. And even the gayest of all the super gay, incredibly heterophobic aliens see your gay vibe and think, whoa, dial it back, homo."

"So, too much?"

"Just a bit," Santana told him.

"What if I go a bit lighter?" he asked checking himself out.

"Whatever floats your big gay boat," she said.

She had intended on helping him find something lighter when she felt the vibration of her phone. She loved that little shock she got. Both physically and emotionally. Brittany had pressed a button in Seattle and she felt the vibration in New York. How sad was it that she loved that? How far gone does someone have to be, that they love something so simple?

**Brittany**

_Hi. _

**Santana**

_Are you busy?_

**Brittany**

_I have about 20. Call me.  
_

"Hey," Santana got the attention of the other two and held up her phone to signal what she was doing. They both waved her off while they squabbled about clothes or some other stupid crap that Santana couldn't care less about. She reached into her bag and pulled out Brittany's sweatshirt as discreetly as she could. It didn't work out very well for her.

"You should really wash that already," Rachel said obnoxiously when she was caught.

"Oh, leave her alone," Kurt said. "Let her be weird about her girlfriend's shirt. It's all she has."

"Thanks so much for that, Kurt," Santana hissed.

"I was trying to help."

"You're not."

Santana headed out the door, but not before Rachel complaining, "You're not helping poor, devastated Santana and you're not helping me with these questionable choices. You need to foc-"

She shut the door on that conversation and took a seat on the ninth step down of the grand staircase before she dialed Brittany's number. She sat the Washington sweatshirt in her lap and waited through the two and half rings.

"Hi, Santana."

Her heart always skipped a beat. It always did.

"Are you still mad at me?" Santana asked as she leaned her head against the rails of the stairway.

"I'm not mad," Brittany replied. Nineteen.

"I want to see you."

"I want to see you, too," Brittany answered. "But I understand. " Twelve. How far would those numbers go up before they were in the same room again?

"I miss you."

"I'm right here."

"You know what I mean."

"I miss you, too. You know that already."

Santana swallowed hard. She did know that, because Brittany didn't hold back. Not like she did. "I love you."

"...What?" It was whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you. I love everything about you. Your laugh. The way you make those butter smiley faces on your toast. The way you kiss. That cute butt wiggle you do when you're excited that I'm not sure if you even know you do. The way your body feels against mine. The way you sound in the morning. The way you move. You're perfect. And you're going to say that you're not, but you're perfect for me. We are perfect together. Whether it's fate or meant to be or some big fucking random coincidence that we met, it doesn't matter. And I should have told you this while you were here, or hired a skywriter, or did some other romantic over the top bullshit, but i couldn't wait for the next right moment. So, I love you."

Santana was pretty sure that the next forty-six seconds was the longest of her entire life. She knew that's how long it took, though. She watched the second hand on the clock go from 3:27:16 to 3:28:02.

But at 12:28:03 in Seattle, she heard an emotionally strained, "I love you too."

Santana blinked away the tears that had formed in eyes. She took a deep breath in relief, "You do?"

"I love you more than anything else in this world, Santana," Brittany confided. "Duh! I have for a really long time."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because if I would have told you I loved you after our second phone conversation, you would have changed your number."

"No, I wouldn't have."

"Yeah." Brittany said in disbelief. "You would have freaked out. I was freaked out, so I know you would have freaked out."

"No."

"Yes," Brittany said with no room for doubt.

"Fine, I would have freaked out," Santana admitted. "Okay? You're right. Are you happy?"

"I'm so, so, so happy right now, Santana," Brittany told her sincerely. "I love you. You love me. I'm happy."

"Say it again."

"What? I'm happy."

"You know what."

"I love you, Santana." She could actually hear the smile across all the miles. She could hear the love in her voice. It was there. It was real. "I love you."

"Oh my god, that sounds good," Santana laughed and wiped away a stray tear.

"Feels good."

"Did we just make this a million times harder?" Santana asked suddenly worried.

"Just because we just said it, doesn't mean it wasn't true before. So, I don't know how we made it any harder than it already was."

"I can't imagine it being harder than not being able to hug you right now."

"Just hug me?"

"Doing other stuff would be nice, too," Santana said.

"Uh huh," Brittany agreed wholeheartedly. "Hey, I have a question."

"What's that, babe?"

"Cute butt wiggle?"

"You do it."

"When?"

"When you're excited. It's somewhere between a butt shake and a hop. It ends up being a wiggle."

"I don't do that," Brittany contended.

"Yes, you do."

"Nobody has ever told me that before."

"Maybe you only do it for me, then," Santana replied. "Maybe I'm the only person you've ever been excited enough about to do the cute butt wiggle."

"That's probably what it is."

"Most likely." Santana couldn't wipe the grin off her face. "It's okay that you do something really embarrassing around me. I think it's adorable and I love you for it."

"I'm glad you brought up embarrassing things," Brittany segued. "Kurt sent me a pic after you'd fallen asleep using my sweatshirt as a pillow a couple days ago. I wasn't going to tell you, but now you're not playing fair."

Santana really wished she had some great story to defend that, but she didn't. "Yeah, so. It's soft and it smells good."

"I bet it does."

"Just like my girlfriend."

"Lucky girl."

"She's amazing."

"How amazing?" Brittany teased.

"Amazing enough to make me fall in love with her."

Brittany exhaled, "I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Me, too, Britt. Me, too."

"Instead," Brittany groaned, "I have to get back to work."

"Already?" Santana checked the clock. Time always went too fast when she was connected to this woman.

"Yeah."

"Okay," Santana said. "Hey."

"What?"

"I love you, Britt."

"I can't believe you told me the first time while I was on my lunch break," Brittany commented. "Way to make sure the rest of my day pales in comparison."

"I couldn't help it, I just love you."

"I'm not really complaining." Brittany laughed lightly. "I love you, too."

"One more time."

"I love you, San," Brittany told her again. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Not soon enough."

As Santana disconnected, she realized how true it was. It was never soon enough. It was never enough, period.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

If there's one thing Brittany Pierce knew all about, it was routines. Brittany had a thing about routines. She had to stick to them. If she didn't, she be late. She'd get lost. She'd lose everything she owned. She'd figured that out pretty early in life. It was ingrained in her mind at this point. Just like all the dance steps she had ever learned. Stick with the routine and everything falls into place. One move at a time. It had served her well. That was until Santana Lopez answered that fated phone call.

Santana Lopez was not routine. Nothing about her was routine. She didn't even have a normal routine. Not the same way Brittany did. Santana's life could be chaotic at times. Nothing was set. Everything was day to day. New plans. Roll with the punches.

Just Santana's inclusion was shaking up Brittany's life. Brittany would say Santana was like a milkshake. Like a marshmallow, caramel, extra whipped cream and sprinkles milkshake. Don't get her wrong, the milkshake was freaking delicious. It was the best milkshake she'd ever had, and she was fairly certain that it would be her favorite milkshake flavor forever. But, falling in love with a chaotic milkshake that's only available in New York meant she had to change her routine.

Wake up earlier. Check phone. Take a shower. Check phone. Get dressed. Check phone. Walk to work while checking her phone and dodging people and traffic. Switch to silent, which only made it more complicated. Will herself not to check her phone the entire time Blaine is droning on and on about demographics. Check her phone in the reflection of Artie's glasses. Sneak in a text. Make a quick call. Savor the twenty five minutes she can get around lunchtime. Power through the afternoon grind. Wait all night until Santana calls. Then do it all over again the next day.

The new routine was getting more and more exhausting. So, needless to say, Brittany felt like her life was a little bit topsy turvy. It felt like everything was changing really fast, and yet nothing was happening fast enough. Her normal routine was so off, that she found herself stopping completely throughout the day and having to remind herself what she was doing, where she was going. And when Holly Holliday sent her a memo to meet her upstairs in the executive offices, she was pretty nervous. She couldn't remember messing anything up lately, but anything was possible. She wasn't exactly the smartest cracker in the Triscuit box. She knew that was accurate, too, she had worked with some really smart Triscuit people a few years back.

Holly was kind of infamous for keeping people waiting. It was sort of her thing. The rumor was that she watched them sweat on her closed circuit security camera next door. Brittany didn't really believe that, but there were several red, blinking lights all over the place in there. She made a conscious effort not to look directly at any of them. She also went back over everything that she could possibly have done to piss Holly off and nothing came to mind. Thoughts of Santana were distracting, but she didn't think they'd been _that_ distracting. Or maybe she was so distracted that she didn't even know how distracted she was.

To calm her nerves, she felt the best option was to entertain herself by thumbing through pictures on her phone. There were all kinds of her and Santana while Brittany was in New York. They looked really good together, if she said so herself. There were a bunch that Kurt had sent her that she referred to as The Cutest Thing Santana Did Today series. Kurt meant for them to be embarrassing, but they really just made Brittany fall in love with her more. There were dozens of Santana that she had sent every morning because Brittany was curious about what she was wearing or how she had fixed her hair that day. In most of them, Santana was making silly faces, but that was okay. That day's picture had Santana actually giving her a genuine smile. She was genuinely smiling back at her screen when Holly tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh," Brittany said. "I didn't know you had come in."

"You seem distracted," Holly craned her neck to see the display, "Who's that?"

"Santana, my girlfriend, you met her at Rachel Berry's dinner party." She held her phone so that Holly could get a better look.

"Oh, yeah. I remember her stepping over me at one point. I think she refilled my flask with tequila," Holly studied her picture for a second and then gave her a wink. "Nice."

"Uh, thanks," Brittany said, not really knowing how to respond.

"She's hot," Holly approved. "I'd bang her."

Brittany gave a her boss a glare and quickly hid her phone away, "Yeah, let's...not. Ever. No."

"I'm just saying," Holly said with a double thumbs up. "Good job."

"Did you need to discuss something with me?" Brittany changed the subject.

"Oh, yeah," Holly gathered herself and walked around her desk to take a seat. "I was impressed by your work in New York, Brittany. I've been impressed by you for a while now, actually. If everything goes well with Whoopsies, and it will, I want you to be the new Creative Director around here. You'd oversee all the creative choices by all the teams. I think you're ready for it. No, I know you're ready."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Wow," Brittany was surprised. "That's an amazing offer."

"You're talented, Brittany," Holly continued. "You're great with your team and with clients. You have fantastic instincts. You're the right person for the job. Plus, I've been ready to retire Hagberg for years. If that old bitch tells me I'm being inappropriate one more time...I'm going to do something really inappropriate to her morning coffee."

"Uh...thank you...so much. For the offer, not for getting rid of Hagberg, but I..." Brittany looked all around the office trying to find the words to use next.

Holly's eyes narrowed, "I'm sensing some hesitation. And I'm pretty great at sensing things, I dated John Edward while he was still honing his gift."

"No, there's no hesitation because of the offer. It sounds great and I know I could do it," Brittany tried to explain. "I just may not be...available."

"Are you entertaining offers from other agencies?"

"Not exactly."

"Is is a money thing?" Holly asked. "We can sort out the money. You'll be well compensated."

"No."

"Hours?" Holly took another stab at it. "The hours would be probably be the same."

"I'm probably...I might be...I'm planning on mov-ing," Brittany finally spit out.

"Moving? I thought you'd been in Seattle most of your life, what's this about? Where are you going?"

"Well," Brittany straightened in her chair, "Santana lives in New York and well, I'll probably be moving there soon. To be with her."

"She's asked you to move?"

"Um, well, not exactly." This line of questioning made her uncomfortable. "She hasn't asked me _yet_, but she's going to."

"So, are you saying you don't want a promotion because your girlfriend _might_ ask you to move to New York? How long have you two been together?"

Brittany swallowed, "Three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Holly exclaimed. "I've had drunken binges that have lasted longer than that, Brittany. I once did a kinky role play as Snow White while I lived with seven dwarfs in a Mexican shanty for longer than three weeks. I was stuck in a well as a child a whole month and lived on earthworms and little canfuls of water that they sent down with a rope and pulley system."

"That was you?"

"No, that was a lie," Holly admitted. "What I'm trying to say is...I know you're a lesbian, Brittany. I know about the urge to merge. I, myself, had the urge to merge with Ellen during our short lived romance in the late 90s. But, three weeks is hardly long enough to be considering a huge move like that."

"It's more serious than it sounds."

"Everything is more serious than it sounds at three weeks."

"We've known each other longer than that," Brittany said defensively.

"How long?"

That probably wasn't the best defense, though. "A few months."

"Oh," Holly laughed. "Do you go out there often?"

"Uh, no," Brittany bit her lip. "We've only met once, really."

"Just once?"

"...Yeah." This was quickly becoming one of those times that she got flustered and confused and couldn't decide the best route for escape.

Holly seemed to catch on, because she leaned on her desk and said, "Okay, how about we say the offer is on the table? After you finish the Whoopsies account, we'll revisit it."

Brittany nodded, not willing to say it probably wouldn't matter. "Thank you so much, Holly."

"Britt," Holly said as she opened the door. "You should really think about it. The position is yours, just...think about it."

"Okay," she nodded as she left the office.

The door hadn't even clicked before Brittany had dialed Santana's number. And, of course, all she got was voicemail. Her timing really sucked sometimes. Redial just because. Voicemail again. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. Santana was going to ask her.

Hours later, she was still telling herself it shouldn't matter. She'd worked really hard for this, but it didn't matter. She was comfortable here. She loved this city, it was her home. She loved Santana. She loved Santana more than anything, Santana was her future. It didn't matter. Santana was totally going to ask her.

If she moved to New York, she could get another job at another agency. No, it wouldn't be here, but change was good. She'd probably have to start at the bottom again. But, she'd have Santana. She'd kiss her goodbye before she left for work. She'd hold her hand while they walked down the street. They'd make out in movie theaters. They'd have dinner at Santana's favorite pizza place. She'd sleep next to Santana every night. They'd have a life together, because that's what she wanted. That's what Santana wanted. Santana was going to ask anytime. It was inevitable.

She had psyched herself up so much for the question that when Santana's name flashed across her phone unexpectedly, she almost answered with, "Yes, I'll move to New York."

She didn't.

Instead, she answered with, "I was just thinking about you."

"I was thinking about you, too," Santana laughed. "Wanted to hear your voice."

"Is it everything you thought it would be?"

"And more."

"What's up?" Brittany asked while rocking back in her desk chair. "Rachel otherwise occupied with Premiere Week stuff?"

"I guess so. Kurt has her testing earrings for reflective qualities," Santana answered. "I got away while no one was looking. I can't find it in me to give a shit about Premiere Week."

"Rachel would be mortified if she heard you say that."

"Oh well, I'm mortified by everything about her most days."

"San..."

"What?" Santana said innocently. "She's mortifying. Ask any animal or small child."

"Is that the real reason why she can't be in any of those feel good movies about dogs finding their way home?"

"She claims it's allergies," Santana said conspiratorially. "It's really because all furry beings hate her."

"I think it's her voice."

"I think she gives off a threatening scent."

"I can see that," Brittany thought out loud. "It is Rachel Berry's Golden Glittery Girl: Smell Like the Star You Are Parfum."

"So you got her care package?" Santana assumed.

"Yesterday," Brittany answered. "It also contained blu-rays of all of her movies, her cd, and 10 page letter about how great it must have been for me to meet her."

"No signed photo?"

"Poster size, but I gave it to Artie."

"Good, that shit will haunt your dreams, babe."

Brittany still smiled at the term of endearment, "So..."

"So what?"

"I have some news," Brittany said nervously.

"Okay."

"Holly offered me a promotion. Creative Director of the whole company."

"Oh," Santana said blankly.

"Yeah, it's a big step up."

"That's...uh..."

"What?" Brittany's heart was in her throat.

"Did you accept it?"

"Well, it's sort of an after Whoopsies kind of thing."

"In Seattle?

"Of course."

"Wow, Britt. That's amazing," Santana said with a squeak. "Of course, she offered you a promotion. You're a fucking genius."

"You think it's something I should consider?" Brittany asked.

"Do you want to consider it?"

"I wondered what you thought about it."

"I can't make that decision for you, Brittany," Santana told her. "Though, it sounds like you're already thinking it over."

"It's a great opportunity. I've worked really hard for a shot like this."

"I know." Santana's reply was barely audible.

"Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Uh, nothing," Brittany dismissed it. "I don't have to decide anything for a while."

"Yeah, you have a while," Santana agreed.

"A couple of months at least."

"Is that all?"

"Well, we're hoping to have Whoopsies all sewn up by the end of the year."

"Oh," Santana replied. "That's...soon."

"Yeah..." Brittany steeled her nerves for what she was about to do. "San?"

"Britt?"

"What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Brittany paused. "We want to be together, right?"

"Yes," Santana answered. "Of course."

"Okay, well, we haven't really discussed how to make that happen."

"Because I'm not entirely sure how it _is_ going to happen yet," Santana said. "It will. I know that. But..."

"But?"

"There's lots of things to consider, Brittany."

"Like?"

"Like...we both have careers. Mine involves the three ring circus that is Rachel Berry, but it's still my job."

Brittany ran her hand through her hair. She tapped her pen on her desk. Why couldn't she just say it. She'd move. She'd move today if Santana wanted her to. She'd catch a flight out right now. She wouldn't even pack, she hated to anyway. All she needed was the question. She had to hear it. She couldn't just invite herself into Santana's life and home without being asked, right?

"Yeah," Brittany said finally. "We'll sort it out."

"We will," Santana tried to assure her. "The important thing right now is that I love you and you love me and we have our routine."

"Our routine," the blonde repeated.

"It's working, right?"

"Uh-"

"Hey, I think Rachel is looking for me," Santana said suddenly. "She's shrieking like a howler monkey and stomping around."

"Oh, okay."

"We'll talk about some more, though."

"We kind of have to, Santana."

"And we will," Santana said. "I love you, Brittany. I'll call you soon. As soon as I can, okay?"

"Yeah, I love you, too."

Brittany disconnected and pushed her phone across her desk and stared at it. She was so tired of that being the thing that tied them together. It was just a stupid phone. She wished she could just chuck it out the window. She really thought this whole long distance relationship was ultimately a short term thing. She just knew that it would only be a few months. She thought that they'd figure it out sooner rather than later. How long was she going to have to wait to start their life? Why was Santana so content to wait?

She'd never had a stronger craving for a marshmallow caramel milkshake and Santana still hadn't asked.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

For as long as Santana had known her, Rachel had always described Premiere Weeks as beautiful beginnings. She claimed there was something magical about the whole thing. It was the preparation of the moment she let another one of her creations out into the world. A baby bird leaving the ultra plush nest. Then, in true Rachel fashion, she got to bask in the glory of all the adoring reviews. Even if the reviews weren't so adoring, or plentiful. Let's face it, nobody ever told her any differently.

Everything was a production for Rachel Berry. Everything. And to Rachel, it wasn't worth it unless it was over-the-top, 110%, and all out. Santana understood the sentiment, she really did. But, the only thing she loved about Premiere Week was Premiere Day. And the only thing she loved about Premiere Day was Premiere Night. And that was only because the whole fucking thing was nearly over. All she had left to do was walk the carpet, sit through a terrible movie, and then suffer through a party with a bunch of pretentious assholes. It was a release. It was a purge. Another torturous week was ending. So was so close to the end.

The super added bonus for this ending: as soon as it was over, she could start to really focus on the situation with Brittany. She had made this flawless plan. Really. It was flawless. Surprise Brittany by showing up in Seattle for Thanksgiving. Ask her to move to New York. Spend a blissful five days with her girlfriend. Start planning Britt's move. Find Brittany a job worthy of her awesome talents in the Big Apple. Live in New York City with her beautiful girl. Get married. Have dancing blonde babies. Be happy forever. Flawless.

Until it wasn't so flawless anymore.

"You should stick with your plan," Kurt whispered with a nudge as they rode side by side in Rachel's limo. Rachel sat across from them doing her Premiere Week breathing exercises while being fanned by Kitty with a giant feather.

Santana gave him a sharp elbow back in response. "Stop reading my mind, Kurt."

"I didn't," the man said as he picked some invisible lint of his most stylish jacket. "You were muttering 'flawless plan' again."

"Oh. It was flawless," she said. She shook her head, "But, I can't go through with it now."

"You can and you should."

"No. No, Kurt. What am I going to say now? 'Hey baby, turn down the awesome job offer and come to New York because I can't live without you any longer.'"

"Yes, that sounds about right."

"No," Santana told him. "She would. She would totally do it. I know she would, that's why I wanted to ask her in person. So I could enjoy all the sexy benefits."

"That's a little underhanded."

"Fuck off, my girlfriend lives in Seattle. I will get any sexy benefits I can whenever I can get them." She stopped when she had a realization. "I wonder if any airlines have Booty Call Miles. We could probably rack them up considering we'll be apart forever."

"Ask."

"I can't. I don't want her to pass up this kind of opportunity for me. She shouldn't. I can't ask her to do that."

"You said yourself, you can't make decisions for her. Put all the options on the table. She'll decide what's best for her."

"What if she says yes? Then she picks up her entire life to come here and she regrets it? Then what? Where does that leave us?"

"Then...you both took the chance," Kurt said. "You have a much better shot if you're at least in the same city. That's all you can ask for, Santana. A shot at making it work."

"There's got to be another option, though."

Kurt looked her in the eye, "Santana Lopez, you love her. Stop being such a chicken and ask her to move in with you."

"I'm not being a chicken," Santana said loudly. "It just doesn't seem fair."

"All is fair in love and war," Kurt said. "And clothing sales. I'd punch an elderly woman in the mouth for a reasonably priced, shimmery blouse."

"Wouldn't we all, Kurt," Santana rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't we all."

When the limo rolled to a halt, Santana was chomping at the bit to get the night over with. She even gave Rachel a little shove to get her moving.

"Let's go," Santana practically yelled.

"Stop being so pushy," Rachel told her. "I haven't even finished my breathing."

"I'm going to finish your breathing for you if you don't get out."

"Kelly," Rachel addressed Kitty, "are we ready?"

Kitty gave her a nod, "All systems are go, Boss."

"All systems are go?" Santana asked the assistant. "Did you check all the power levels on the spacecraft?"

Kitty didn't seem to want to respond, so Rachel did. "She's just doing her job, Santana. Brilliantly, I might add."

"Well, you two can be brilliant after this thing is over." Santana gave her another light push. "Move it."

If only she had known what was coming. If she had, she would stayed in the limo. No, she would have stayed home and never left her apartment again.

It happened in slow motion. Isn't that what everyone says when something terrible happens? It happened in slow motion. My life flashed before my eyes. And so on. Well, it happened in slow motion.

Santana was just doing her job. She had done it so many times before. Thousands. Walk just slightly behind her. Just enough to keep up, but far enough away to be barely noticeable. Tune out the screaming photographers. Tune out the flashbulbs, focus on getting Rachel from limo to inside without a catastrophe. They'd done this so many times without incident. Point A to Point B. Easy.

That's why she was taken off guard when Rachel motioned for her to come closer.

"What?" she had said in the other woman's ear. She expected any of the one of the incredibly vain things Rachel usually said. She expected to have to do a boob check to make sure Thelma or Louise hadn't gone over the cliff into indecent exposure. She expected a zipper malfunction or a chewed piece of gum. She didn't expect Rachel to hook her arm through hers. She didn't expect the kiss on her cheek. She didn't even see it coming when Rachel told a horde of reporters they were dating.

A million flashes went off. None of them tuned out. Santana's first thought was 'Whaa?' and the second was that every weekly entertainment magazine in the country would have photos of her looking like she'd just been smacked in the face by a wet fish. A dead one. Right in the kisser.

"What the fuck did you just do?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Keep smiling!" Rachel told her as she clutched Santana's arm tighter. "Don't say anything."

Don't say anything. Santana was never good at not saying anything. But, she had literally no words as Rachel kept shouting answers to the reporters. Answers that made no sense whatsoever. There was "I recently discovered my interest in women" and "This is Santana Lopez, we're dating" and "We've always been attracted to each other" and "Finn and I are still the best of friends."

Santana, for her part, was struck dumb. There was absolutely no protocol for a situation like this. Did she let Rachel continue with the charade? Did she push her down and run away? Actually, that second one looked like a winner. When she finally snapped out of it, she pulled Rachel inside roughly.

"Are you fucking insane?" Santana asked as soon as they were shielded from cameras.

"He's not going to win, Santana," Rachel said with a smugness that made her skin crawl.

"Who? What? Where?" the publicist was so confused she didn't even know how to finish the questions.

"Finn is telling the press that he left me," Rachel told her. "You'd know that if you'd been paying attention instead of huddling in corners, talking on the phone, smelling a dirty sweatshirt."

Santana closed her eyes tightly. Dirty sweatshirt. Brittany's sweatshirt. Brittany. "That's what this was about? Fucking Finn?"

"He's making a fool out of me."

"_You_ just made a fool out of _both_ of us."

"Finn Hudson cannot leave me," Rachel said. "He's a schmuck."

"I've been saying that all along," Santana reminded her. "And that's not even what happened."

"But everybody already thinks it," Rachel said dramatically. "It's all over the place. Why didn't you know this? Why didn't you stop it?"

"I..." Santana searched her mind furiously for any indication. She really didn't know that. How could she not? "I don't know."

"Okay," Rachel said with a calming breath. "It's okay. I took care of it myself. We're dating now."

"No, we're not," Santana said firmly. "That's ludicrous."

"You're always saying more people should come out."

"Actual gay people, Rachel. Not crazy, fake gay people."

"I could be lesbian. I played one before in the 2006 teledrama, Golf Course Gabby and her Bicurious Caddy."

"Not the same."

"Just go along with it for a little while," Rachel said with a wave of her hand. "All you have to do is kiss me in public a few times. You might even enjoy it."

"Oh, that's all?" Santana made a show of the sarcasm. "Well, I'm just being ridiculous then?"

"No big deal," Rachel shrugged. "People do it all the time."

Her nonchalance made Santana furious, "I'm pretty sure the only thing I'd enjoy less than pretending to date you is a comprehensive vaginal reconstruction."

"If it helps, I can get you a discount for that."

"Are you taking hallucinogenic drugs? Am I? Because that's the only way to explain what just happened."

"Designer vaginas are really popular right now, Santana."

Santana just stared.

Rachel must have taken that as acquiesce, "Then it's decided."

"No, no, no," Santana shouted. "I'm not going along with this."

"You have to."

"What about Brittany?"

"I can't date Brittany, too," Rachel bellowed. "I'd look like a lesbian slut."

"No."

"I'm not asking," Rachel said seriously. "I'm telling you. It's not for very long, Santana. Just for long enough for the story to make the rounds."

"Rachel," Santana warned. "Don't."

"This is all your fault in the first place. We shouldn't even be in this position. You're just going to have to take one for the team. Team Rachel. We're on the same team now."

"What the hell is going on?" Kurt said when he finally fought his way through the crowd. "Everybody's going crazy."

"Rachel's lost her mind," Santana answered still glaring.

"I had to," Rachel said plainly. "I didn't have another choice."

"She told the press we were dating," Santana explained.

"Who?" Kurt asked genuinely.

"Each other!" the publicist exclaimed.

"What?" Kurt looked to Rachel, then back to Santana. "Nobody's going to believe that. She's not even your type."

"Am I not cute enough for Santana?" Rachel asked in a huff.

"You're cute enough," Kurt said. "Just not blonde and bubbly."

"I'm bubbly."

"You're a fucking bubble machine," Santana deadpanned.

"Rachel, seriously," Kurt tried reasoning with her. "What about Brittany?"

"I just started dating Santana, Kurt," Rachel scoffed. "Let me work up to the multiple ladies."

"No," Santana said again. And that's when Santana's phone started ringing. All she had to do was determine the ringtone, "Fucking Puckerman!" She hit ignore. "So it begins."

The second call came immediately.

"Who is that?" Rachel asked.

"Sylvester."

Rachel had grabbed the cell before Santana knew it, "Sue?"

"Don't do it, Rachel," Santana told her as she tried to intervene.

"Oh, Becky. Hi," Rachel went on. "It's Becky, Sue's assistant," she said to Santana quietly. "Becky, you tell Sue that she should run the story. In fact, I'll pay her to run it."

"No!" Santana finally got her phone back, but it was too late. Becky was gone. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.

"Stop being so dramatic, Santana," Rachel said condescendingly. "It's not like your reputation is ruined. You're dating a superstar."

"I'm dating a nice girl from Seattle. A beautiful, sane woman that would never fuck me over like this."

"In real life maybe," Rachel said. "But that hardly counts."

Her phone didn't stop ringing, either. It went on and on. Every contact she had ever had was calling to get a quote. Or to make a sale. Or to laugh in her face because the whole thing was so fucking crazy. It was a nightmare.

When a very familiar number popped up, she thought the nightmare just got worse. She didn't even know why she answered it.

"What the hell do you want?" she asked into the phone.

"I knew it!" Quinn said on the other end of the line. "I always knew she had lesbian tendencies. She had a thing for me all along, didn't she?"

"She's not a lesbian!"

"I'm watching right now, Santana," Quinn argued. "It's all over the place already. You can't kiss Rachel Berry and not expect to make the news."

"I did not kiss that woman!" Santana denied vehemently. "She's not gay, Quinn."

"I knew it. We had a weird connection. I never did anything about it, because I was with you, but I knew it."

"Quinn, for the last time, Rachel's not gay. You're not either. Seriously, it's time you let it go." She ended the call with Quinn's rebuttal hanging in the air and handed her phone to Kurt just to rid of it.

"Quinn and I could have had something special," Rachel said, obviously having overheard.

"You're both delusional," Santana told her. "Batshit crazy delusional."

"That may be true, but we have a movie to see," Rachel directed.

"Not a chance."

"Listen, I have created a revolutionary piece of art, Santana. Nobody has ever made a movie with three leading men playing the same part. It's the future of film. So, we're going to go enjoy it."

"I'm not sitting through your crappy movie while you try to hold my hand and make kissy faces." Santana took a step back. "I have to go and try to shut down what you started, Rachel."

"You're good at what you do," the star informed her. "But you can't undo it. There's a reason it had to be like this."

"How long have you been planning it?" Santana asked.

"For about as long as you haven't seen it coming."

"I can't believe you." Santana had never been so mad as she was at that moment.

"I did what I had to," Rachel said. She pointed toward the theater, "C'mon. You have to go with me."

"Your phone," Kurt said as she held it up to indicate it was ringing again.

"Not now, Kurt."

"It's Brittany."

All the anger seemed to drain out of her when she heard the name. Brittany. Everything-good-in-this-miserable-stinking-world Brittany. She'd probably seen a headline already. She'd probably seen a photo of Rachel Berry with her lips on Santana's face. She took the phone and for the first time ever, she pressed the red button to ignore the call.

"Rachel, you're right," she said as she slipped the phone in her pocket. "You were right before. I wasn't paying attention. I was preoccupied with my own life and...Britt...and I wasn't doing the job you hired me to do."

"That's okay," Rachel told her. "You'll do better. Now, c'mon. We can't miss my big premiere."

Santana laughed humorlessly as Rachel walked away, completely unaffected by any of it. "It'll get done better," she said to herself.

When she looked at Kurt, he was studying her.

"What?" she asked.

"I've known you for a long time, Santana. I know that look in your eye. It usually means I'm not going to like what you're about to do."

"Probably not," Santana smiled sadly.

"I guess you found the hidden option," Kurt said as he pulled her in for a hug.

"Yeah...I guess I did."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Brittany had gotten one text from Santana in the last 12 hours. One. One text that she loved her and she promised she'd call. She hadn't called. She hadn't texted. She'd gotten calls and texts from everyone else. Friends had called her to tell her to both check out the news immediately and to warn her against it. She was confused by it. She didn't quite understand what the angle was, but there was no way in hell Santana was dating Rachel Berry. Not a chance.

She'd seen it. She saw the look on Santana's face. When Santana looked at Brittany, there was a softness. She always smiled a smile that seemed to grow slowly and steadily. She tilted her head and she licked her lips. Brittany always felt like she was being drank in, like there was a static in her gaze. She could feel it when Santana looked at her. And, she most certainly did not look at Rachel that way. She didn't in the TMZ video and she didn't in person. Santana didn't look anything other than surprised. Whatever this was, it was had Rachel written all over it in bold gold glittery letters.

That didn't explain the near silence on Santana's part, though.

The lack of communication also didn't stop her from staying up way too late. It didn't stop her from finally passing out with her phone clutched in her hand. It didn't stop her from worrying a little. Not because she didn't trust Santana, but because whatever was going on must be really serious if she hadn't called.

When she shuffled into to the kitchen to pour some cereal the next morning, she was surprised that Sam had picked all his crap up out of the living room. He must feel really bad for her. He was really concerned when he'd first seen the scroll along the bottom of the Kardashians rerun he swore he wasn't watching. He'd spent a lot of the night just watching her watch the phone silently. Sometimes, Sam was really good about just being around. But, eventually, he had gotten a phone call and disappeared for the rest of the night. She didn't want him to worry, so she knocked on his door to insure him that she was fine. When she opened just enough to peek through, she found he wasn't even there. Everybody must have had a crazy night.

So, she ate a bowlful of Lucky Charms in silence. No speakerphone while she crunching through the marshmallows. No furious texting as she got dressed. No listening to Santana sing Amy Winehouse over FaceTime as she gathered her things for the day. It was so quiet. Too quiet. She fed Lord Tubbington without the usual 'Britt, remember portion control' from Santana. Even Tubbs seemed to know something was up, but it didn't stop him from meowing pitifully until his morning meal. Something was off, she just couldn't quite put her finger on what yet.

It was a Saturday, but she still had to go into work a few hours. Not too long, just a couple hours to finish up some stuff the team had started during the week. She liked to start fresh on Monday. She thought the best thing for her to do was just to go to work. Take her mind off of all this Santana stuff for a little while. Not that her mind was ever far from Santana for very long.

Either way, it didn't work out so well.

"Brittany, I'm so sorry," Blaine said as soon as she entered the office. He was waiting on her with a basket of muffins. "You poor thing," he said pathetically as he hugged her.

"It's not true, Blaine."

"It looks pretty true, Britt." He straightened his bowtie from where it had been smushed by the hug. "What does she have to say for herself?"

Brittany blew out a deep breath, "I haven't talked to her yet."

"Ouch," Will said as he leaned against a desk in the open office space. He was giving her the same look she gave him for months.

"She hasn't even called?" Blaine asked. "That's just-"

"That's those celebrity types, Brittany," Artie said just after he rolled by. "They're all alike."

"Artie, c'mon, it's not true."

She didn't miss the look that Artie shot Blaine.

"Guys," Brittany said. "I know her. It's not true."

"Then why would Rachel Berry say that?" Artie asked.

"Uh, maybe because she's crazy and desperate for attention," Brittany answered. "That's just my first guess, I haven't gotten the whole story."

"Rachel doesn't seem like that type," Artie defended her.

Brittany chuckled, "You really are a tool, aren't you?"

"Oh, Brittany," Sugar breezed through the door, waving a piece of paper. She handed it over, "Here, I want you to have this."

Brittany sighed, "Sugar, this is a check."

"Yeah," Sugar nodded.

"Why are you writing me checks for," Brittany looked back at the number, "9,000 dollars?"

"Eight seemed like too little for someone who's recently had their heart smeared all over their life, but 10 grand was just obnoxious."

"I don't want your money," Brittany handed the check back. "Thanks for caring, though."

"Brittany," Sugar frowned. "I saw them at the premiere of Run Joey Run. It looks legit. It's even been songified on Youtube. I-i-i'm-m-ma da-da-da-ting w-w-w-women now. It already has a bazillion views."

"Great," Brittany said tersely.

"Don't worry, I'm all over it. If you look it up, be sure to thumps up the Santana Hopez comment from dollarsignmottabags24."

"Done!" Artie said as he clicked around on his phone.

"Sugar!" Brittany scolded the other woman. "Delete it! Santana is not dating Rachel Berry."

"I saw it with my own eyes, Brittany."

"Has to be true, it's all over the place," Blaine agreed.

"I'm convinced," Artie echoed.

"I'm sorry, Britt," Will looked everywhere but her. "But, I saw it. She never denied it."

"You think that's why she hasn't asked yet?" Holly asked Brittany as she swept in the room. "I hope you're still considering my offer."

"No, Holly." She didn't want to hear that. "I think she hasn't asked because she's overly cautious. She's always like that, especially when it comes to me. I, mean, even the first time we had sex, I was all naked and ready and she just stared at me like she didn't know what to do first." Brittany looked up to see all her coworkers wide-eyed. "I think I may have said too much."

"No," Artie objected. "Go on."

"I second Artie's suggestion," Sugar said taking a seat.

Will still couldn't look at her, but now for a different reason.

"What did she do first?" Holly asked.

"I definitely said too much," Brittany shut them down. "But, that's how I know that all of this Rachel stuff isn't true. And that's how I _know _that Santana isn't just messing with me. She loves me and she wants us to be together. She just thinks it's up to her to figure out how. Which is why I'm turning down your offer, Holly."

"Brittany..."

"No," Brittany held up her hand to stop her. "I'm going to New York after we get done with the Whoopsies account. I'm telling Santana as soon as she calls me back."

Holly patted her shoulder gently, "I won't accept a 'no' until the deadline we talked about."

"That's fine, but by that time I'll be wherever Santana is."

"Okay," Holly said. "We'll discuss again another time. Some time when you have a bit more clarity."

"I'm clear," Brittany told her. She then addressed the rest of the people gathered in the office, "Can we not talk about this anymore?"

The hubbub had mostly died down and Brittany had resumed her work, when she saw a check sliding slowly across her desk. Sugar had drawn in a 1 in front of the 9,000. In the memo she had written: To Unbreak Your Heart.

That's when she decided that she probably wasn't going to be productive at all.

She left the rest of her team at the office and went home. She loved that walk. It was calming, even more so on a Saturday. It was less rushed. Despite the drizzle, the city seemed a bit brighter. Passersby seemed a bit friendlier than they normally would. When she got back to her apartment, she rested her trusty yellow umbrella in its usual spot. She had nearly made it to the couch, where she was planning on watching some television, when her phone rang.

"San." She knew she was giving everything away with the breathy way she whispered it. But, she was just so relieved to see the name. "Are you okay?"

"Hey baby," Santana answered in that cool, collected Santana way. "I've never been better."

"You scared me."

"I didn't mean to," Santana said. "I know I should have called you earlier. I know, but...there was a lot of things I had to do and not much time to do them."

"Okay," Brittany replied. "It's just that you've never _not _called. I was worried."

"Don't be worried, Britt Britt."

"I'll try not..." Brittany trailed off. "What are you doing?"

"Uh...dodging the rain."

"You sound weird."

"How do I sound weird?"

"I don't know," Brittany frowned at how off everything seemed. "You just do."

"Babe, I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Brittany really wanted that to be true. "You know I don't believe the thing with Rachel, right? Is that why you didn't call me?"

"I know you don't," Santana answered. "I knew you wouldn't believe it. And I should have called, or texted, or whatever. There were just things...things I needed to get in order."

"I know."

"You don't, but you will very soon."

"I'm going to move there," Brittany told her. "As soon as I can, I'm going to New York. I want to be there with you."

"I appreciate that, Brittany," Santana replied. "I do. If you had said that yesterday, I would have let you. But, that's probably not for the best."

"Britt!" Sam bounded through their apartment door. "Britt, get off the phone."

Brittany waved him off. "What do you mean?" she asked Santana.

"I don't think you moving to New York is going to work for us, babe."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Brittany," Sam was still trying to get her attention, waving both arms like a lunatic.

"Sam," the blonde covered the mic. "Not now, San's on the phone."

"I've got something better. Way, way better," he said nearly giggling. He was pointing back toward the door he left open.

There stood Santana Lopez, dressed in track pants and Brittany's favorite hoodie, leaning against the door frame. She was waving her phone with a smile. "Because I just moved to Seattle."

The first thing Brittany did was drop her phone. She didn't need it anymore. Afterwards, she moved faster than she ever had in her entire life to get to Santana. She practically rolled backwards off the couch and had her girlfriend in her arms in a flash.

"You're here?" Brittany asked in wonder as she sat the brunette back on the floor.

"I'm here," Santana smiled and rocked up on her toes to capture Brittany lips with her own for a quick kiss.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're here."

Brittany was pretty sure her smile was bigger than her whole apartment, but the reality still hadn't set in, "What?"

"I couldn't be away from you another day."

"But how?" Brittany tried to shake herself out of the dream she was obviously in. "What happened last night?"

Santana took a deep breath, "Well, a lot of things. Rachel...had psychotic break, I guess. I don't even know. She devised a whole scheme that... it doesn't matter. What I do know, is that all of a sudden in all this chaos, you called. And I just knew. I knew the best option. For me. For us. It's this. It's you taking a job that you're perfect for and me doing something for me. Which I hadn't done since I started doing everything for Rachel. So, I packed and I changed my plane ticket and I told Rachel I was done."

"Changed what plane ticket?"

"Uh," Santana laughed. "It was all part of a flawless plan. Then I made a more flawless plan that got me here faster."

"Yes," Brittany agreed. "I don't know what it is yet, but I like it already."

"Me, too."

"So...Rachel? How did she take you leaving?"

"Oh, she didn't have much of a choice. Mercedes was all too willing to help me out. I got a kickass severance package in lieu of a sexual harassment suit. Oh, and she broke up with me."

"Did she break your heart?" Brittany asked with a giggle.

"I'm devastated," Santana said in mock seriousness. "You better kiss me before I fall apart."

"Mmm, I love you," Brittany said right before her tongue teased over Santana's bottom lip.

"You more," Santana barely got out before they were doing a full on make out session in the doorway.

Sam averted his eyes, they must have forgotten he was there. He tried clearing his throat to no avail. He was a nice guy, he'd let them have their moment. And then Santana's leg curled around Brittany's hip, "I'm kind of still here..."

The noise seemed to distract Santana and she pulled away, "Oh yeah, sorry Sam."

"Have you two met?" Brittany asked clearly still in shock from the surprise.

"He picked me up from the airport, Brittany," Santana answered for both of them.

"And now I'm going to...go, and I'll be gone...until it's safe to come back," Sam told them as he gave Santana a pat on the back. "It was nice finally meeting you."

"You, too, Sam," Santana smiled. "Thanks."

He smiled a big-lipped smile before engulfing Brittany her in a hug, "You got the girl," he whispered before he let go.

"Thanks for delivering her," she teased.

"No problem," he said.

Brittany shut the door behind him. "So, what about...your stuff?"

"I have clothes," she pointed to a suitcase that Sam must have brought in and dropped behind a chair.

"That's all?"

"We'll figure it out," the brunette grabbed her hands in her own, "You still have to be in New York for Whoopsies, we'll stay at my place and I'll bring back what I can. We'll figure it out. My lease isn't up for another few months and the rent is paid up."

"What are you going to do?"

"I have some money saved for a rainy day. Doesn't get any rainier than Seattle. I'll be fine until I find a grunge band to make famous...or create some kind of internet start-up."

"So, you're really here?" Brittany asked. Now it was starting to sink in because the tears were stinging her eyes.

"I'm a Seattle-land-er-ite or whatever," Santana shrugged. "I have a lot to learn."

"I will teach you," Brittany promised. "I can't believe you just...moved."

Santana pulled her in closer, "I love you, Brittany. I've never wanted anything more than this and I've never needed to be close to someone so much. And this was the best way for us. So, yeah, I moved. Well, maybe not technically yet, but I'm here with you and I'm not going back without you."

"Ah!" Brittany didn't even try to contain her excitement.

Santana watched her hop around for a second before cluing her in, "You just did it."

"What did I do?"

"The cute butt wiggle, baby," Santana slapped her ass, "you just did it."

"I did not."

"You did."

"I still don't believe it." Whether she as referring to the wiggle or the move, neither of them knew or cared.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" Santana asked as she slid her arms around Brittany's waist.

"Have I told you how sexy those track pants are?"

"Yes, actually, you have."

Brittany popped the waistband, "You're even sexier out of them."

"Yeah?" Santana asked. "You should give me a tour, starting with your room so we can test that theory."

The blonde took her hand to lead the way, "Have you thought anymore about that armpit thing?"

"Britt..."

"I'm just asking."

"We're still working up to it," Santana told her as she trailed behind.

"We pretty much have forever, don't we?" Brittany said as she closed their bedroom door.

Thirty seconds later, it reopened and Lord Tubbington was gently pushed out of the room. "Sorry, Tubbs," Brittany whispered. "I'll give you extra treats later."

%%%%%%%%%%%%

**Hi.**

**Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed, accidentally clicked on, tumbled, retumbled (reblogged?), tweeted, retweeted, posted, quoted, recommended, fan-arted, movie postered, or wrote a song for 2859. Thank you to everyone who messaged/askboxed/tweeted me. It was a blast to get to chat with you. I hope you all had as much with this story as I did.**

**Also big thanks to Alex/Ace/Nay/Cee for various things.**

**Halfrobotchicken.**


	21. 2859ilogue

2859ilogue

"I assure you, Susan," Santana said into her phone as she passed through the double doors of her building. "It's not a 'Come as your Favorite Broadway Character' event. You should ignore anything you get from Rachel Berry."

"Hi there, San'ana." The leprechaun boy behind the desk smiled as she passed. "Nice day."

She could never remember his name. Brittany had told her a million times, but she just referred to him as Irish Jig most of the time. It started with a..., "Rrrr-ight." Yeah, she had no idea.

She hit the button for elevator and waited. "She thinks she's in charge because it's in New York."

When the car opened up, she walked inside and hit the lit up 6. "We've all gotten past that, Susan. It was a long time ago. And she's apologized to Brittany numerous times. Sure, it's in the form of autographed head shots, but Britt sells them on eBay and makes a some serious money."

She acknowledged the older couple riding with her that probably still only knew her as 'that dear, sweet Brittany's girlfriend from the East' with a small wave.

"Mami can't wait to see you again, either," she said to Susan.

As soon as the elevator door opened onto the sixth floor, she was greeted by the stink eye from 9 year old Wes Brody. She gave it right back. That kid hadn't liked her since Brittany introduced Santana as her girlfriend.

"We're flying out at 10 in the morning. I'll have Brittany call you with all the specifics, okay?"

"Santana Banana," April Rhodes yelled down the corridor as soon as she was spotted.

"Hello, April," the brunette reciprocated. "Who let you out?"

"I just came out here to tell you I'm drinking Sangria in honor of you and Brittany," April slurred.

"In that case, drink up," Santana told her as she slid past. "But don't pull the fire alarm again. I was in the shower the last time."

Santana smiled at what Susan had said on the line, "I can't wait to legally be a part of the Pierce family either, Susan. Believe me, no one is more excited than me. We'll see you in a few days."

She placed her phone in her pocket when she reached the apartment door. She pressed into it while she put the key in the lock. It was tricky, most of the time she had to give a good hard ass bump.

As she turned to do just that, she saw Mike and Tina exiting their apartment with their brand new adopted addition. "Hi Changs."

Tina waved little Alejandro's hand in her direction. He said something that was probably brilliant in baby speak.

"Hi, Alex," she waved back. Santana couldn't deal with how cute that kid was. Her and Brittany had just started broaching the subject, but first they wanted to get married and buy a house. It was all part of Santana and Brittany's Flawless Plan. That was a real thing, it was laminated and hanging on their fridge.

"You guys ready?" Mike asked in regards to the wedding.

"I'm ready, Britt has been ready, she's practically bouncing off the walls," Santana answered. "You guys are coming right?"

"Of course," Tina said. "We're flying in next Friday."

"Good, Brittany really wanted to make sure you were there," Santana said. "We're both grateful you're making the trip."

"We couldn't miss our favorite neighbors getting married," Mike winked.

"We are pretty special," Santana agreed.

When she got into the apartment, she threw her keys on the table next to a picture of her and Brittany taking a nap that Sam had snapped a year or so ago. It was Santana's favorite so far. Brittany's long limbs were curled all around her like a cocoon. They looked blissful, even while they slept. They probably looked it because they were.

Lord Tubbington met her shortly after. She gave him his usual ear rub and went to the cabinet to get his portion controlled dinner. She prided herself on his three pound weight loss. He meowed gratefully when she poured his food in the bowl. The two of them had grown to love each other despite some early trouble. There was a tiny disagreement about who got to sleep next to Brittany. Santana won. Tubbs declared war. Santana encouraged Brittany to buy him more clothes. He stood down. Santana donated his cat apparel to needy, homeless kitties. Now, they lived in relative peace and harmony.

She continued into their bedroom where she wanted to get all the packing finished before Brittany decided to "help." That drove her insane. She loved the woman, but if Brittany rolled one more dry clean only garment into a ball and stuffed it in a front zipper compartment, she was going to go ape shit.

She had gotten through about half of it when she heard Brittany's keys jangling.

"San?" Brittany called as soon as she was through the door. "Why do I have four texts from my Uncle Bobby asking if Victor/Victoria is on Rachel Berry's list of approved musicals?"

"In here," Santana yelled from the bedroom. "I'm going to warn you, I'm packing."

"Ew," Brittany voiced her displeasure at the idea. She walked into their bedroom and hugged the brunette from behind. She placed a kiss on her ear before asking, "You want help?"

"Absolutely not," Santana shook her head. "I'll do it. Stay away from my stacks."

"You're weird," the blonde said.

"And you're marrying me," Santana folded a shirt into a perfect square and set it on the bed. "What does that say about you?"

"That I'm marrying a weirdo," Brittany moved the perfectly folded shirt just a smidge.

Santana's eyes cut up to the blonde. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she said innocently. "Do you know anything about Rachel and Uncle Bobby?"

"Oh yeah," Santana moved the shirt back and walked out of the room. "Rachel is trying to make our wedding a costume themed affair. That's the deal with Uncle Bobby. Text him back and tell him he can wear a dress if he wants, but don't bring the damn goat. That fucker ate fifty bucks right out of my pocket the last time we went to the farm."

"San...you know Billy should only get one dollar bills. Fifties make him sick."

"It made me sick, too, babe."

"You know what else makes you sick? RSVPs," Brittany said as she followed Santana to the kitchen. "We have to finish tallying the guests."

"Is it bad that I don't even care anymore?" Santana asked. "Just as long as you and me and a officiant of the great state of New York are present, I'm going to call it a success."

"Has to be done, San."

"Fine, okay," Santana sighed dramatically.

Brittany laughed. "God, you're cute when you're annoyed."

"Shut up."

"You are."

"Stop."

Brittany pulled her at her shirt, "I love you."

"Yeah, well, I kinda like you."

"Kinda like?" Brittany let her hands fall to Santana's hips. "What will make you like me more?"

"I don't know."

Brittany lifted her up and sat her on the counter, "You have no idea?"

"You'll have to try different stuff, I guess," Santana said as she wrapped her legs around the blonde and forced her closer.

"So many options." Brittany ducked her head to kiss just under Santana's jawline.

"That's a good starting place."

The blonde kissed down her jaw until she made a quick move for Santana's lips. She sucked the bottom one in while her hands slowly slid up the back of Santana's shirt.

Santana had grabbed Brittany's belt loops and was trying her damndest to pull her on top of her when they heard a knock at the door.

"Fuck," Santana complained. "Who is that?"

"Don't know," Brittany huffed, trying to catch her breath. "I'll see."

Brittany made a move, but Santana squeezed her tighter. "One more."

"One more is never enough for you," Brittany told her.

"Please," Santana did the sad face. The sad face always worked. Brittany couldn't fight the sad face.

"You cheat," Brittany said as she leaned into another kiss.

"Guys!" they heard from the door. "I can hear you. It's like lip smacking central in there."

"Dammit Sam!" Santana screamed. "I tryna getz my mack on."

"You're always trying to get your mack on," he shouted through the door.

"Come in," Brittany yelled.

Sam entered slowly. He had enough experience with them to know surprise visits often made more surprised visitors. "Are you decent?"

"San's boobs are out."

"No, they're not, Sammy," Santana said as she lightly slapped Brittany's thigh. "You can come in."

"I came to ask what you two think of my fancy tux," Sam told them as he showed off his tuxedo for their wedding.

"Oh, wow," Santana approved. "You're going to make the handsomest Man of Honor ever."

"So you guys decided I'm the Man of Honor, huh?"

"Yep," Santana said as she slipped off the counter.

Brittany had already reached him and starting pulling at his sleeves and dusting off his shoulders. "I agree, you look fabulous."

"You think he'll like it?" Sam asked as he twirled a bit.

"I think Kurt will love it," Santana told him. "How's that going by the way?"

"Good," Sam said with a shy smile. "I mean, it sucks. But, it's also great."

"I know exactly what you mean," Brittany said. Her pinky blindly reached for Santana's, which was already poised for linking. "How cool is it that your Best Maid and my Man of Honor have made another long distance connection?"

"It's great," the brunette said. "But I don't envy the Seattle to New York romance."

"Yeah, Britt," Sam addressed her. "I'm sorry for ever giving you any shit about waiting by the phone."

"What goes around comes around, Samuel."

"Don't I know it?" Sam unconsciously looked around for a clock. "Okay, well, I just wanted to make sure I was presentable for your big day."

"Looking good," Brittany assured him.

"I guess I'll see you two in New York next weekend, then."

"You will," Santana said.

"Group hug," Sam announced as he held out both arms.

"Oh," Brittany giggled. "We haven't done this since the month we all lived together."

"Don't remind me," Santana said with disgust even though she participated.

"Call me when you arrive," Sam told them, always being the big brother type.

"Sure," Brittany watched him leave before turning back to her fiancee. "RSVPs."

"No!" Santana complained. "Damn Sam and his tux. I nearly had you distracted with sex."

"Unless you want to armpit me, then we're doing them."

"Fine, RSVPs."

Brittany put a big, silly smile on her face before grabbing the last of the envelopes and settling on the couch. "Come here, honey," she called sweetly and patted the space in front of her.

Santana settled into her usual spot, leaning up against Brittany. She still marveled at how well they fit. "Let's get it over with."

Brittany gave her a quick kiss, "I can't wait to marry you."

"How do you follow up me being bitchy with 'I can't wait to marry you.'"

"I've been doing it since the first time you were bitchy. I just wasn't so vocal about it back then."

"Are you serious?" Santana asked curiously. "You thought you wanted to marry me then?"

"Okay, maybe not that exact moment."

"When?"

"Uh...your moment. Which was my moment. I've had several Santana moments since then, though. My favorite was when you finally said yes after staring at the ring for 10 minutes."

"I did not make you wait 10 minutes." Santana automatically lifted her hand to admire her engagement ring.

"You did."

"Did not," Santana denied. "And I was shocked. I wasn't expecting it then."

"Exactly."

"We were in a grocery store, Brittany."

"Again. Exactly."

"In the frozen food aisle."

"Element of surprise."

"In front of frozen pancakes."

"It was perfect," Brittany said, mentally patting herself on the back.

"It was pretty perfect," Santana smiled.

"RSVPs," Brittany started, having successfully turned Santana's frown upside down. She pulled out the card. "Blaine sends his regrets from Guadalajara. Oh, look, he sent a picture of his Chia pet."

"Babe," Santana leaned in to inspect it. "That's him."

"Damn," Brittany grimaced. "I always made fun of his hair gel, but now I understand his dependence on it."

"Unfortunate," Santana said. "Next."

"Holly...won't be coming."

"Is she still missing?" Santana asked as she took the envelope from Brittany and looked for a return address. "I mean, didn't we have to get this to her by top secret courier or something?"

"Missing? Not quite," Brittany said. "She wrote us a note. 'Hey Bitches, Getting married? That sucks for you. Good luck anyway. Signed S Dub 7.'"

"S Dub 7?"

"It's a whole kinky roleplay thing. You don't want to know, I wish I didn't."

Santana found when Brittany said that, she meant it. "Next."

"Will," Brittany made a drumroll sound, "is coming with a plus one."

"Oh, that Starbucks chick? Terri?"

"Yeah, they really hit it off."

"They seem like a good pair," Santana agreed. "Hope that works out for him."

"I really think it will," Brittany said optimistically. "Next is...Quinn."

"She wouldn't miss it," Santana said as she looked at the card. "I hope she got Rachel's message about the costumes."

"San..."

"What? It'll be hilarious."

"Yeah, it will," Brittany agreed. "Okay...Rachel?"

"Does she have a plus one?"

"Yep."

"I figured."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," Santana said. "KStew. They're still celebridating."

"That's been going on a while now."

"Well, it's good for both of their careers at this point. The lesbians are really attached to them."

"Plus, Rachel can wear all her stuff and claim they're just girlfriends sharing clothes."

"That's pretty much the reason why Rachel is celebridating her in the first place."

Brittany placed the card in the 'Yes' stack on Santana's right thigh. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what? Rachel?"

"Rachel. Your job. New York."

"Rachel, no. I still talk to her too much. I watched her and Kurt do a reenactment of And I'm Telling You from Dreamgirls yesterday on her private streaming YouTube channel. And my job was awesome for a while, but we wouldn't have gotten to spend time together like we do now. I'm much happier with what we have than what I did have, okay?"

Brittany nodded.

"Plus, I'm much better at giving orders rather than taking them."

"Unless it's me," Brittany said with a sly grin.

"Unless it's you."

"What about New York?"

"I miss it," Santana shrugged. "But if it's between you and New York, there's no contest."

"We could still go, San. We can move, all you have to do is say the word."

Santana leaned up and turned so she could see Brittany's face. "Are you kidding me? You can't leave. You've made New Directions legendary."

"Nuh uh."

"The mastermind behind Whoopsies: Dress up your Mess Up _and_ Fondue For Two."

"It's not legendary," Brittany brushed off the compliment.

"I dare you to find one person in this country who doesn't follow up Fondue For Two with 'that's some hot dish.'"

Brittany blushed. "Maybe a tiny bit legendary."

"We're not leaving. You love it here. I love it here. I want to raise our kids here."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"RSVPs," Brittany held up the remaining two cards. "Artie."

"Tool."

"He's going."

"Of course, he is," Santana said with pfft. "He's already there and on Rachel's payroll. She'll probably require a company wide mandated attendance."

"Okay!" When Brittany got to the last card, she danced it across Santana's belly. "This is it."

"Who is it?"

"Sugar!"

"Sugar better be going," Santana commented. "We let her sleep on our couch for 2 months."

"She's going," Brittany flashed the card at her. "It's such a shame she's broke now. I was able to afford a moped just from the times I frowned in her general direction."

"Who invests that much money in tarot cards, babe?" Santana asked.

"Someone with a very hazy vision."

"True," Santana picked up the cards. "Are we done here?"

"I think so," Brittany told her.

Santana stood up and turned around to pull Brittany to her feet as well. "I have to finish packing and you need to call your mom."

"K," the blonde said. She let Santana almost get away before she pulled her back. She hugged her, placed a sweet kiss on her temple and whispered, "We're getting married."

"Just one more week."

"And a cross country flight," Brittany added.

"One week and 2,859 miles."


End file.
